Will To Leave
by OyHumbug
Summary: Each person's breaking point is individual and unique. What will it take for Marissa to reach hers, and, by the time she does, will Ryan still be there to help her, to love her? AU
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Yep, this is the new story I told you about. It's dark, it's depressing, and it will most definitely be dramatic. More details about the characters' histories will be revealed as the story progresses. Please, just be patient. Some things are slightly cryptic on purpose. Also, before you read, I wanted to warn you. We're hosting Thanksgiving at my house this year, so that means on top of our normal baking for the holidays (approximately 150 pumpkin rolls which also have to be delivered) and the fact that my Mom is currently in the process of remodeling our kitchen and I'm her little bitch, we also have mad cleaning and cooking to do to get ready for next Thursday. That said, I'm not sure how often I'll be able to post between now and then. I'll definitely get the prompt up for the flash fic on Friday, and I'll write a one shot for that sometime this weekend, but this will probably not get updated until after the holiday. Plus, I want to have a special Thanksgiving challenge (more details later), so look out for that, and, of course, I'm going to want to participate. However, now that I've bored you to tears with this long winded note, here's the post . Enjoy!_

Charlynn

**Will to Leave**

**Chapter One**

At exactly six a.m., Marissa Eileen Cooper's alarm woke her up. Rain or shine, whiteout or blackout, whether sick or on vacation, she never failed to get up bright and early before the dawn. In fact, her routine was so set in stone, she could get out of bed even without the alarm, but she used it anyway, just in case. Her schedule was important; it was rigid and unwavering for a reason, and, if anything were to ever interrupt it, she didn't want to ponder the consequences. So, stiffly, she lifted her arm to shut the ringing clock off, reset it for the next morning, and immediately set to work.

First, she made the bed. The six hundred thread count, Egyptian cotton sheets were smoothed out over the mattress and situated just right so that the fabric was evenly distributed on each side of the bed. Next, she pulled up and leveled out each duvet and comforter, a total of three and arranged in order from the thinnest to the thickest. Once all the blankets were tucked in, she moved to the pillows, fluffing the ones used for sleep and piling on the superfluous, decorative throw pillows as well. It was an exact science, making the bed, one she had learned quickly and efficiently.

From the bedroom, she moved into her walk in closet, choosing an outfit that was both attractive and appropriate for the work day. She needed matching lingerie, a satin bra and thong, a long sleeved shirt and a pair of dress pants to cover most of her skin, silk hose to wear underneath her designer heels, a coordinating handbag, and proper daytime jewelry. Her clothes were always simple but elegant, timeless but still modern, and they rarely varied. Taking the small, neatly folded pile into the ensuite bathroom, Marissa stripped off her pajamas, always a cotton nightgown unless it was a special night, and got into the shower.

She had a routine while bathing as well, her motions efficient and perfunctory so as not to waste water. First, she would shampoo her hair, rinsing out the soap quickly but thoroughly. While her deep conditioner would soak into her ends, she would put a quarter sized dollop of sweet pea and lavender body wash on her loofa, wash her body, and manage to shave her legs and underarms in five minutes' time. As was her custom, she would finish her shower by rinsing out her condition, turning off the water, and stepping out onto a towel so as not to get the heated floor wet. After running a large, body sized towel over her lithe form and hair, she would allow her skin to air dry as she scrubbed the shower clean. Everyday, rain or shine, whiteout or blackout, whether sick or on vacation, she always sanitized and wiped down the shower.

Next, she would get dressed, putting her clothes on in the same order every morning: panties, bra, hose, shirt, pants, shoes, and, finally, accessories. When her entire ensemble was complete, she brushed her teeth, cleaned out the bathroom sink, and flossed before moving to her vanity to pull out the stool and sit down to apply her makeup which she always wore, even if she stayed inside her apartment all day long. Graced with good genes and taught to always use sun block, Marissa did not have to wear cover up, so she kept her makeup to a minimal level: eye liner, eye shadow, mascara, light blush, and tinted lip gloss. It was both easy to apply and to remove. Completed, she stood back up, pushed her vanity stool back in, and moved to the bathroom counter where she combed out her hair, blow dried it, straightened it, and proceeded to style it as well. It was a process, an ingrained habit, rote, and nothing ever changed.

Satisfied with her appearance, she would clean up the bathroom, picking up her dirty nightgown from the night before and used towels. After carrying them to the small laundry room off of her kitchen, a luxury in New York City, she would put on a small load to wash. It was a rule in the household that she did not leave the apartment with dirty laundry laying around, no matter what she had to do or where she had to go. While her washing machine continued to run, she would go into the kitchen, prepare herself breakfast, and eat in solitude while quickly browsing through the morning paper. Not only did a woman need to be abreast on all the important events of the world, but reading also helped her forget the bland nature of her morning meal: two appropriately proportioned pieces of fruit, a dry piece of whole wheat toast, and a flavorless, chalky protein shake. Once she would finish eating, she would clean up the predominately stainless steel room, rinsing off any dishes or silverware she may have used during breakfast, cleaning them, drying them, and then putting them back away in their correct, labeled positions in the cabinets and drawers.

At that point, her morning routine was almost complete, but, while she waited for the small load of laundry to finish, she would move her wallet, keys, makeup case, and various other odds and ends from the purse she had used the day before into the one she had chosen for that day. The empty purse was then put back in her walk in closet, and she would do one last sweep of the apartment, making sure that it was in perfect, precise order. After all, she couldn't leave for work if it wasn't. On her way out the door, rain or shine, whiteout or blackout, whether sick or on vacation, she would switch the laundry, putting the wet clothes in the dryer, and lock the door both on the inside and on the outside before finally leaving, taking a deep breath, and relaxing.

Except that morning was different. She couldn't take a deep breath, she couldn't relax, and she couldn't take the elevator downstairs to hail and cab to take her to the office; instead, she asked the surly driver to take her to Presbyterian Hospital.

Ryan Cohen Atwood was running late to work – literally. As was his habit, he had rolled out of bed at the very latest possible moment, shoved some clean clothes into a gym bag, and set off to Presbyterian Hospital in a sprint. Killing two birds with one stone, he would run like hell to work every morning, barely giving himself enough time to shower and change before having to start rounds. It kept his life interesting, it helped him catch as much sleep as possible, something a doctor always seemed in short supply of, and he was able to exercise without going to an overprized and rather unfriendly gym. In contrast, he much preferred the streets of New York City for his daily jog than the sterile, repetitive treadmills a fitness club had to offer. Even in the winter with a foot of snow on the ground and the air so crisp it could steal the very breath from his lungs, he maintained his ritual commute to the hospital. His coworkers thought he was slightly insane, his parents worried about him, and his brother and best friend loved it, for the daily job allotted Seth an uninterrupted time slot everyday to call and harass him, and, just like clockwork, his phone vibrated in his pocket, alerting him to the fact that he had an incoming call.

Switching on the headset he wore, he laughed at the rush of words that left the curly brunette's mouth before he even had a chance to greet him.

"How's life in the big apple this morning," Seth asked. Ryan could hear the mirth and hyperactivity in the younger man's voice. "Juicy, perhaps?"

"It's… kind of hot right now."

"Well, it's June, and you're outside running. What did you expect?"

For someone who was still awake at three-thirty a.m., west coast time, Seth had way too much energy. His schedule was completely mind boggling. While the rest of the world was working during the day, his brother would sleep, preferring to be awake during the late afternoons, evenings, and early mornings. The younger man claimed he was more inspired then, that comic books were more interesting when read under the light of the moon, and that pudding always tasted better after it had all day to cool in the fridge. Ryan knew otherwise though. Seth just hated to be alone, so he would sleep during the day when their parents were at work, and then stay up all night harassing them until he could pick up a phone and harass his brother. The brunette really needed to find a girlfriend.

Deciding to direct the conversation towards a topic Seth could really sink his teeth into, the doctor queried, "so, what's up with you? Did anything interesting happen yesterday?" Plus, if the younger man dominated the exchange, he could focus on his breathing.

"I managed to have a few moments of genius during commercial breaks. Dad had a whole week's worth of _The Nanny _tivoed."

"You do know you can fast forward through commercials, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I need the breaks," Seth argued. "While Alex prattles on about life insurance and Betty tells me about how I can get my pet's medication delivered right to my door, I run to the kitchen for snacks or drain the main vein, you know?"

He didn't, but, on the flip side, he really didn't want to, so he let the comment slide and asked another question. "What happened to _Judge Judy_? I thought that was Sandy's show of choice still?"

"Dad says she's gotten soft, and _The Nanny _reminds him of home. You should hear him belt out the theme song. He should seriously consider adding it to his karaoke repertoire. Anyway," Seth segued, jumping topics, "between Betty yapping in my ear and Fran catching the doggie nappers in one of the episodes, I think I've come to the conclusion that I want a pet."

"You ate your egg during high school home-ec when we were supposed to take care of it as if it were our child," the older sibling pointed out.

"I was hungry, and, as I explained to Mrs. Hopper, it's called survive of the fittest, Ryan. I was the superior being, and my egg was weak. As evolution has taught us, it was my responsibility to dominate, destroy, and devour. Besides, I'm not actually going to take care of the dog; I'll hire one of the little neighbor kids to do it for me. I'll just take it for walks on the boardwalk every evening. Chicks love sensitive guys, guys who will sacrifice their video game time to take care of their pets."

"So, let me get this straight," the general practitioner wondered out loud, "you're thinking that the way to get a girlfriend is to get a dog first?"

"Who said anything about a girlfriend," Seth protested. "I just want to get laid. Girlfriends are needy. They want you to listen to them, to hold their bags when they go shopping, to remember their birthday. There are three hundred and sixty five days in a year, man. How the hell am I supposed to remember just one?"

"Have you talked this over with Sandy and Kirsten yet? They might not even want a dog living in the poolhouse."

"You let me handle the 'rents," his brother directed. "You just take care of you. Speaking of which," the curly haired man continued, "what are your current prospects with the ladies looking like? Are they just lining up outside your _Ryan Atwood M.D. _labeled door?"

"I'm a resident at one of the top hospitals in the entire country; I don't have time to date," the blonde argued through labored breaths. Because he had been so late at getting up that morning, he had to push himself even harder than usual. "What else is new?"

"Well, I thought of a new business venture," Seth admitted, "and this one is genius."

Since graduating from college four years ago, after taking five years to finish his degree in fine arts, his only sibling had been wandering aimlessly through life, proclaiming he was one brainstorm away from changing the world. He dabbled in comics, drawing his favorite action heroes and creating his own, attempted his hand at being an inventor, and even tried, just once, to design a sailboat, but still, at twenty-eight, he was unemployed and living in their parents' poolhouse.

"Cereal," the brunette announced enthusiastically, "that tastes good in orange juice."

"What?"

"Think about it," Ryan," his brother insisted. "What about all those poor kids out there who are lactose intolerant and can't enjoy the simple pleasure of sitting down to a bowl of _Cap'n Crunch _saturated in their two percent milk? This is America; we're not supposed to discriminate against those who are different. So, that's why I think a cereal needs to be invented that would taste good in orange juice. Not only would those lactose intolerant kids catch a break, but those of us who are normal would get another delicious breakfast option."

"Seth, you caught the kitchen on fire last year when you were trying to make yourself a package of Ramen Noodles. How the hell are you going to invent a new kind of cereal?"

"What's with all the doubt," his sibling questioned rhetorically. "Where's all your faith in your supposed best friend? Don't you know by now that I always have a plan?" And he wasn't lying; he did always have a plan, and that's what was scary about his idea. "I've decided to contact Mrs. Hopper. She retired a couple of years ago, and I just bet that old bat is bored stiff in the nursing home, no pun intended. While she slaves away at the stove all day long, perfecting my idea for me, I'll take her place in the shuffle board tournaments and bingo bonanzas. Just you wait and see, man," his brother practically promised him, "a year from now, it'll be my face you see when you walk down the cereal aisle."

For some reason, of all the things Seth had said that morning, the idea of his image beside those of Snap, Crackle, and Pop made the most sense to the doctor. Shaking off the amusing thought, he said, "I'm at the hospital now. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Will do," his brother agreed quickly. In closing, the younger man directed, "sneak a few peaks underneath the paper gowns today. You know, you really should have gone into obstetrics and gynecology."

"Goodbye, Seth."

His sibling's complaint was a common one, one Ryan never listened to or concurred with. He liked his job; it suited him, and he knew no branch of medicine was perfect, not even his brother's idyllic view of obstetrics and gynecology. In fact, as an OB-GYN he might have been met with even worse horrors than what he saw as a general practitioner, and that was something the young doctor did not need. He was already haunted enough.

Freshly showered, changed, and ready for his twelve hour shift in the ER, Ryan slid open the curtain to reveal his first patient of the day, never once lifting his face from the chart he was reading. "Good morning, Miss Cooper," he greeted his patient pleasantly. Catching a gentle whiff of sweet pea and lavender, he smiled to himself. It was a very agreeable scent. "So it says here that you're complaining of pain in your chest and tenderness in your left shoulder when you lift your arm."

"I fell down the stairs," the woman explained. "I'm pretty sure that my collar bone is broken."

"Do you injure yourself often, Miss Cooper?"

She laughed softly at his teasing remarks, smiling in his direction when he finally lifted his gaze and met her eyes. They were wide, a striking color of blue that almost shimmered green in one light and then purple in another, and slightly timid. "Often is quite the relative word, doctor," she returned quickly.

"True."

Sighing, the blonde haired woman admitted, "I am a bit of a klutz, but this, a broken collar bone, is something new for me. I looked up my symptoms online though, so that's how I know."

"May I," Ryan asked, requesting permission to untie her gown so he could look at her injury. A slight nod of her head was the only answer he received. "It might not be fractured. You could have just pulled some ligaments, so we'll have to do an x-ray to make sure." Upon seeing her chest, arms, and back though, he gasped. "What the hell," he exclaimed, moving, once again, to stand before her. "Did you fall down a flight of concrete steps leading down into the subway? Your skin is more black and blue than it is white, Miss Cooper."

"It's Marissa, please," she asked of him, reaching behind her to retie her gown. The doctor noticed a definite blush of embarrassment to her cheeks. "And, no, they were the steps in my apartment."

"You have steps in your apartment… in New York City, a place known for its tiny artist studios and cramped walkups?"

While avoiding his searching gaze, she added, "I have a really nice apartment."

"Evidently." But, still, he wasn't sure he believed her. Shaking off his doubts and returning to professional mode, he held out his hand to help her stand up from the exam table. "Come on, I'll help you down to x-ray. Do you want me to get you a wheel chair?"

Before she could reply, she tripped, catching her feet on the small step down from the chair and would have fallen down flat on her face if he wouldn't have been close enough to reach out and catch her. As soon as his arms tightened around her torso, the young woman gasped in pain, and he immediately righted her position, helping her to stand up.

"I guess you really are a klutz."

"Told you," she taunted him playfully, making him smile, and, in that one small gesture, all of his doubt floated away to be replaced with an urge to see her really nice apartment. Of course, it was only because he had always found architecture to be interesting, perhaps because of his mother's job for a real estate development firm. "About that x-ray though," the blonde haired beauty recaptured his attention, biting her lip harshly "is there anyway we could skip it? I'm already late for work, and my boss expects nothing less than absolute punctuality."

"We won't be able to tell if it's actually broken without an x-ray."

"Trust me," Marissa promised, "it's broken. "I just… is there any pain medication I could take to make moving around any easy?" His distrust was back. "I shouldn't have said it like that," she promptly apologized. "Check my chart. I'm not some pain killer junkie looking to score. I just… it's really uncomfortable, doctor."

"Ryan, please," he insisted, although why he wasn't sure. "And I already saw your chart, and you're right; you've never even been admitted before to any hospital. However, with a broken collar bone we usually recommend taking anti-inflammatory pain medication, stuff that you can get over the counter like Advil, Aleve, or Motrin."

"Really, that's all you can give me?"

"I could attempt to put your arm in a sling to alleviate some of the pressure and to help hold it in place."

"No," she begged off, appreciative despite her negative response. "It would just get in the way and slow me down."

He couldn't help it; he laughed. "No matter what, I think a broken collar bone is going to slow you down."

"You're right." Sighing in resignation, Marissa asked, "so, what else do I need to know? How long will this take to heal?"

"Well, every person is different, but, normally, it takes between six to twelve weeks, depending upon the severity of the fracture," the doctor answered. "While you're here, I'm going to schedule you an x-ray in a few months' time. Whether your work schedule permits it or not, you're going to have to get an x-tray preformed later on to make sure that the break is healing correctly. Is there any day that would work well for you?"

"Sundays are probably the best," she replied. Nodding towards the curtain, she stated, "I really need to get going, so, if you don't mind…"

"You need your privacy to change, of course," Ryan assented. Just as he was about to leave the small exam area, he stopped and turned back around to observe his patient once more. "I'd like to see you again… if that's possible. Perhaps we could go out together some time?"

"I'm currently seeing someone," the beautiful blonde answered. Though her words held a note of finality, her tone was still considerate and slightly regretful. "But I'd love another friend… if that's enough for you."

"A friend would be nice. Let me give you my cell phone number." Reaching for a prescription pad from one of the front pockets of his lab coat, he wrote the seven digits down. Handing it to Marissa, he waited for her response.

"Thanks," she accepted the piece of paper. "I'm actually between cell phone companies right now," the injured woman explained. "You know how it is. One company screws you over, and it's a nightmare getting out of the contract you signed so you can find a new service provider. Hopefully the next time we talk, I'll have a number to give you."

"And hopefully the next time we see each other, it won't be in an ER," Ryan added. With a simple nod, he said goodbye, pulling the curtain closed and smiling confidently to himself. Suddenly, his day and social life were looking up. Seth would be both proud and pleased… not that his brother's reaction really mattered.

With a sigh, Marissa relaxed back into her luxurious bed. It was her one safe haven, her one place to find peace, and, after the long day she had lived through during the past thirteen hours, it was exactly what she needed. Like she had predicted, her boss had been furious with her for showing up late to work, no matter what excuse she tried to give him. Apparently, an emergency visit to the hospital didn't qualify as an appropriate absence. So, as punishment, she had been forced to work over that afternoon, and, after performing her nightly chores around the apartment, she was ready for bed at the early hour of seven in the evening.

"Get up," a voice rudely instructed her before appearing in the bedroom – their bedroom. "We're going out."

"Tanner, I really don't feel well. I'm sore, and I'm tired, and I just want to sleep. You should go without me. You'll probably have more fun that way anyway."

"You're right, I probably would, but it's important for me to be seen about town with my girlfriend on my arm. It helps my reputation," her boyfriend icily explained for what might have been the hundredth time. It was the same old dance they always did. She would beg off all their public appearances, he would insist, and, in the end, she always did what he wanted, what he told her to do. "Besides, it's your own fault that you're tired. If you would have shown up at work on time today…"

Snapping up from her reclined position, Marissa hissed as sheer, blinding pain almost leveled her onto her back once again. "I went to the hospital for my collar bone," she said as calmly as possible. Yelling would only strain her injury more, and Tanner was not one to stand by and allow someone to scream at him. That was probably just one reason why he had been promoted so quickly throughout his career. "It's broken."

"Well, that's your own fault, too," her boyfriend told her.

Before she had a chance to retort, he was at her side, forcefully pulling the blankets off her pajama clad body. "We're leaving in half an hour. Be ready. Oh, and Marissa," he added just before stepping out into the hallway that led to the rest of their spacious apartment, "make the bed up again before we leave. You know how much I hate a messy house."

And, just as he ordered, she was primped and set to go exactly thirty minutes later, the bed made to his precise instructions, just like it always was.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: I forgot to mention one very important thing with the last chapter. This fic was a requested story from Fonz, so, everyone, thank him for its conception. That said, as many of you have realized, I have dealt, lightly, with this topic before (for those of you who haven't read the first chapter yet, I won't express what this topic is), but, with this new story, I am really going to attempt to sink my teeth into it. It will be the main plot line and not just a side one. Also, just to let you know, this chapter seemed to run away from me. It's almost fifteen full pages long. I'm sure you won't mind though. ;) LOL Enjoy!_

Charlynn

**Chapter Two**

Pacing. It wasn't an unusual occurrence in her life, but, tonight, Marissa had been pacing for so many hours, she wasn't sure how her body was still obeying the commands her brain sent it. Her limbs felt stiff and disjointed with exhaustion, her feet were cold and bruised from the continual abuse of her harsh steps against the perfectly polished hardwood floors, and her long, always luxurious hair was rumpled and riotous from the continual assault her trembling hands had given it that evening. By looking at her, one would assume that she was worried, concerned for someone she loved, but suppositions and presumptions where Marissa was concerned were always incorrect, for she herself was a carefully crafted illusion meant to confuse and redirect one's thoughts away from anything negative or frightening, and, because of this reason, those who observed the young woman would never believe that her agitation was born from anger, especially since it was a rarely displayed emotion for the blonde.

Tanner was late, and, despite the fact that he was often unpredictable and unreliable when it came to his relationship with his girlfriend, he had promised her he would make it home early that night so they could discuss the meeting he had attended that afternoon. Normally, Marissa did not concern herself with her boyfriend's day to day business activities, but that particular conference held personal importance for her career. After all, Tanner had planned to suggest her for a job promotion, elevating her from a forgettable, run of the mill broadcast journalist's assistant to an on-camera reporter. Sure, it was simply a spot on a cable channel's weekend morning show, but, for a girl from a Riverside, California trailer park with no college education, it was more than she had hoped for when moving across country to the media capital of the world ten years before. It was the type of job Tanner had first tempted her with on their initial date, and it was why she had agreed to go out with him in the first place.

Their relationship was not one born from mutual attraction and respect but one of necessity on her part and a desire to appear the perfect gentleman for his very old fashioned and conservative bosses on his. For a few months, everything had gone as planned. Marissa had found Tanner to be charming, attentive, and, surprisingly, even fun. She went from a subway riding, Bronx living, anti-social outsider to a member of society often mentioned on page six's gossip columns. The exposure helped her reputation at work, and Tanner's employers adored her, helping elevate her boyfriend's position in the media conglomerate. But then he had asked her to move in with him, and things quickly began to spiral out of control.

While his career was skyrocketing, hers was stagnant. If she had a vice president practically supporting her, others would ask, why did it matter if she never advanced further than a position as someone else's assistant? So, not only was she unhappy with her professional life, but her personal one collapsed around her as well. Tanner avoided her, hiding her away in his penthouse apartment where she was not only far away from everyone else's mind but also his. They rarely communicated; their relationship dwindling to public appearances and write ups in the papers. If there wasn't a charity ball, a gala to benefit the arts, or an event to attend in the Hampton's, Marissa did not see the man she had been dating for years. There were no more secret smiles, surprise gifts to let her know that he cared, or intimate moments of kindness shared between them.

Expecting Tanner home at nine, the blonde had spent her time like she did every night, methodically cleaning the apartment to her boyfriend's exact specifications. Since it was Thursday night, she focused on dusting, cleaning any available service with a finely scented lemon polish. Because of the controlled environment they lived in, there never appeared to be any dust to clean up, but she dutifully did her chores anyway, finding the routine somewhat reassuring when nothing else in her life seemed to make sense.

The longer she stayed with Tanner, the more she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Although she had not called the kind doctor who had treated her in the hospital two weeks before, he was often on her mind, and, unconsciously, she found herself wondering what it would be like to be with someone just for the simple pleasure of being with them – no agendas, no rules, no pressure to fill a certain role. But those thoughts also made her feel guilty. After all, she needed Tanner. Where would she be in life without him at her side? Without him, she would still be a nothing living in a one room walkup with the wrong zip code, and, as a girl who came from Southern California, Marissa knew just how important those five digits could be to someone's career, to their entire identity. So, pushing aside her disloyal thoughts, she focused upon her task at hand, smoothing and buffing the already gleaming surfaces of the living room, dining room, office, and bedroom furniture.

At ten, when Tanner was only just an hour late, she decided to organize the kitchen shelves, taking everything out of them, cleaning them, and then putting the food items and cooking utensils back away in the exact order she had removed them. The labor was menial, tedious, and it served as an excellent distraction, but, after an hour and a half, there was nothing left to clean or arrange, so she went back to the main room, turned on CNN, and started pacing.

Marissa was a constant news consumer, taking in the information, storing it away both for her own personal knowledge and as preparation for her future career in front of the camera. She didn't listen to music, she didn't watch movies or scripted television; her only source of entertainment was the news. She read several papers a day, she listened to news radio shows during her commute to work, while she was buried inside her tiny cubby at the office, and sometimes while she was at home cleaning, and she watched only news programs. If she ever managed to find some spare time, she went online and browsed through media blogs, acclimating herself to the newest and often most popular form of journalism.

Two hours later though, the blunders of the government were putting her to sleep, and the incompetence of the rich and famous were making her thankful that she wasn't born into a privileged and wealthy family, so she had turned off the TV, settling down into her routine of pacing. It had been one thirty at that point, and her path had been reduced from a wide circle around the entire living room to just the small stretch of space in front of the beige, calf-skin leather couch. It took Marissa just four steps in three seconds to traverse the distance before being forced to turn back around and start the path all over again.

She didn't mind the monotony of the action; after all, monotony was something she was used to. Her life was a dull combination of work, chores, and the appropriate social events that Tanner deemed both acceptable and vital for their careers. She had few friends, and, even if she wanted to go out with one of them, she couldn't. Tanner believed that she only needed him and the occasional lunch with an acquaintance to keep her happy.

She didn't mind the exhaustion. Despite the fact that it was quickly approaching three in the morning, and she would have to be up, as per usual, at six, going without much sleep and waiting up for her boyfriend were two things she was accustomed to. Her body was trained to operate without the proper about of rest, and she was fully capable of masking dark circles and puffy skin. There would always be another night that she could sleep, another night where she could crawl into bed at a normal time and relax like almost every other person she knew or associated with.

She didn't mind the fact that, when Tanner came home that night, he would smell of another woman's perfume and have another woman's lipstick smeared against his shirt collar. Her mother had taught her at a young age that it was ridiculous to except fidelity from a man. Instead, a woman should hope for a partner in life who supported her, gave her all the things she needed and wanted, and who would not lead her into trouble as many of her mother's boyfriends had in the past. Marissa was in the habit of sharing the man she had dedicated years of her life to, and, although she knew it would both be impossible and unacceptable for her to cheat on him in return, she understood, thanks to her Mom's explanations, that Tanner was just doing to her what any man would. It was a part of their nature, an inherent trait passed down through the generations that forced them to seek as many sexual partners as they possibly could. As long as he came home to her and kept her safe from his exploits, Marissa reasoned she had nothing to complain about.

And she didn't even mind that her brain was so wired to always be working, to always be doing something productive, that, somehow, without her realizing it, she had figured out exactly how many steps she had paced since turning off the television eighty-seven minutes before, so, when Tanner finally stumbled into the apartment they shared, drunk and, in all likelihood, high as well, she stopped pacing and knew that she had taken 6,960 steps back and forth in front of the couch, all perfectly spaced in length and width.

Quickly, she arranged her appearance, attempting to compose herself in only the few seconds' worth of time it took her boyfriend to drop his things in the entryway, leaving them there for her to pick up and put away, and make his way towards where she was in the living room, but the effort was in vain. Without glancing in her direction, Tanner passed through the room and lurched into the bedroom they shared. Obediently but not realizing how submissive she was behaving, Marissa followed him.

Tentatively and speaking softly in case his hangover had already set in, she asked, "how was your day?"

Instead of replying, he simply started stripping off his clothes, tossing them this way and that, not caring where they landed, because he knew she would clean up after him.

Trying again, Marissa pressed, "did your meeting go well?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," he jeered at her. "I swear, that's all you care about - how I can help you. The problem is, though, you do absolutely nothing for me." Naked and standing beside the bed, he turned to face her, his hands fisted at his hips, his eyes narrowed in anger. "Damn it, don't just stand there," he ordered, gesturing vaguely towards the still made blankets. "Get the bed ready for me."

"Oh, of course," she quickly agreed, scurrying to do as he wished. Neither of them spoke while she worked, but, once he was safely and comfortably arranged underneath the sheet and comforters, she questioned him again. "I'm sorry, Tanner. I know you're tired, and I really will try to do more for you, but what did the executives say? Did they approve of your idea to promote me?"

"I decided it wasn't the right time to bring you up."

Two years. Sighing, Marissa's eyes drooped closed, and she nearly collapsed from sheer disappointment. He had been promising her this job or that job for two years, but, whenever a suitable position came up, it never seemed to be the right time, she was never good enough for the promotion, or there was just someone better who had impressed him more at work than she had. And _that_ she did mind.

Whispering her frustrations, she complained, "but you assured me this was the one. You said that I was finally ready, that I had worked hard and deserved this advancement. Did something happen; did I do something wrong?"

Before she could pull far enough away from him, he was standing in front of her, his long fingers manacling her delicate wrists in an unforgiving hold. "This, this is what you did," he screamed, dragging her across the room and into the ensuite where he shoved her in front of a mirror. "You hound me, and you hound me, and what do I get in return? Fuck! I get fucking shit from you!" His attitude switching abruptly, the fury was replaced with scorn and contempt. Laughing cruelly, he ripped her clothes off, and, in an exaggerated manner, pointed out all her flaws. "How many times have I told you that you must be perfect, Marissa? Good is not good enough." Picking up her hand disdainfully, he belittled, "your nails are a mess. You look like you scrub toilets for a living."

"I was cleaning tonight," she calmly, rationally explained. Her first lesson as Tanner's girlfriend had come when he made her realize that crying or showing weakness in front of him was not allowed. That reprimand had left dozens of tiny scars all across the small of her back.

He ignored her and pressed on. "Your arms are still not as toned as I advised you to make them, your legs still show faint traces of cellulite on the back of your thighs, and you can't even stand up straight when I'm talking to you."

"It's my broken collar bone. It hurts when I…"

"It hurts," her boyfriend whined, mocking her. "Do you really think I give a shit? Do you really think that I always feel at one hundred percent every fucking day? Of course not, Marissa, but I don't let it show. You need to grow the fuck up and quit complaining about everything, and, then, when you do everything I tell you do, I might just help you get that promotion you want so badly. Maybe." Turning away from her, he ambled back into the bedroom, practically dismissing her. "Oh, and, before you go to bed, make sure you put my clothes away, get out my suit for tomorrow morning, and you should probably clean up those nails, too."

An hour later when she had finished the list of things Tanner had given her to do, she finally managed to climb into bed, just as the clock on the fireplace mantle in the living room chimed four in the morning. She exhaled softly, savoring the feeling of the soft mattress beneath her back and the blankets fluttering down around her. It felt so good to finally relax, that the blonde felt like sobbing in relief, but she didn't; she never would. However, before her eyes could even close in contentment, she felt her boyfriend's left foot solidly land against her side, literally kicking her out of the bed they shared.

"Who the fuck said you could sleep with me tonight," he growled at her, rolling over and pulling the bedding over his head before she could reply. "Sleep on the floor or the couch for all I care, but get the fuck away from me."

Meekly, she did what he said, limping out into the living room. Between the bruise forming on her right side and her already injured collar bone which had been jarred when she fell roughly onto the cold, hard floor, Marissa could barely walk. Physically she ached, emotionally she was drained, and mentally she felt as if she was simply about to give up. She needed something to look forward to, something to bolster her outlook. So, in an effort to, for once, do something that would make her happy and, perhaps, as a small act of rebellion, she bypassed the couch and slowly made her way to the entryway where her purse was sitting on the sideboard table. Reaching inside, she dialed a number she had programmed into her phone two weeks before.

The time of night didn't register in her mind, and the fact that Tanner could, at any moment, seek her out and discover what she was doing completely eluded her. Needing a friend, needing something to hold onto, getting in touch with the man who had not left her thoughts since the moment they had met was the only thing Marissa could think about. When his voicemail picked up, she smiled to herself, grateful that, for once, something was going the way she wanted it to.

"Hi, Ryan, this is Marissa Cooper. You might not remember me, but I was your patient a couple of weeks ago. I came in presenting with a broken collar bone. Anyway, when we met, I said that we could be friends, but, unfortunately, my life's been pretty hectic, and I haven't been able to get in touch with you until now. If you're still interested and can get away, I'll meet you at one o'clock at the Central Park Carousel. I'll bring the food, so all you have to do is show up… if you want you. Thanks," she whispered, pausing for a moment to subconsciously bite her already red and raw bottom lip, "I really hope you'll come. Bye."

Hanging up, the blonde slipped her phone back into her purse and made her way towards the living room, once again. Moments before, she had been so weary, she wasn't sure how she would manage to stay awake for another second, but, as she gingerly lowered herself onto the sofa, she was wide awake. Marissa knew she would be unable to sleep that night, for she was too wired for her impromptu lunch with the kind doctor from the hospital that she had met two weeks prior. There were very few things in her life that she had to look forward to, and spending time with someone who made her smile, who made her laugh, that was a rarity, one meant to be treasured and appreciated as much as she possibly could.

Ryan grinned when he saw Marissa walk towards him. When he had noticed the voice mail waiting for him on his cell phone that morning, he had assumed, incorrectly, that it was Seth needing to talk to someone, even if it was simply a recording of his brother's voice, so the doctor had been thrilled when he found out he was wrong and thankful that he hadn't just gone ahead and deleted the message without listening to it, especially since the number had come up as private on his caller ID. Not only had the beautiful blonde called him back, finally, but she had asked him to lunch.

He had felt slightly guilty when he had been surprised by her invitation, not that he doubted her sincerity of wanting to be his friend, but, even after his brief examination of her two weeks prior, he had noticed just how tiny the statuesque woman was. The reassurance that she did, in fact, eat was something Ryan had not been willing to ask for, but, nonetheless, he was glad to receive it. That said, he was curious to see what kinds of food she brought for them. If he had his way, he'd eat a couple of hot dogs from the vendor down the street from the hospital. Although, as a doctor, he knew processed meat was one of the worst thing a person could put in their body and that the hotdog buns and condiments offered him little nutrition, he still craved the unhealthy New York dietary staples at least once a week. It was a weakness he was proud to have.

"You're early," Marissa announced before joining him at the table he had managed to secure for them at the busy central park attraction. "Or am I running late?"

He smiled at her nervous behavior, observing her as she arranged her clothes so that they wouldn't wrinkle, fussed with her pinned up hair, and organized the various things to eat that she had bought for them. "You're right on time. I had a light case load this morning, so I got out of the hospital early, and it's a beautiful day, so I just decided to sit here and wait for you."

"Oh," she sighed, returning his grin, pleased with the knowledge that she had not broken her word. "I'm glad. As for lunch though," she gestured towards the food, "I wasn't sure what to buy. Obviously, I don't know what you eat, so I just went with things that I liked and hoped that we had similar tastes."

"What did you get?"

"Watercress salads with red wine vinaigrette dressing, smoked chicken, mushroom, and tomato pita wraps, and a melon medley for dessert," she answered, pointing out the various dishes as she spoke. "And, of course, water to drink," she added, reaching into her tote to pull out two sealed bottles of Fiji water.

Apparently, their tastes were not the same, and Ryan realized just why his new friend was so thin; she was a health nut, probably one of those Manhattan raised debutants who refused to live anywhere but on Park Avenue, who ate nothing with flavor, and who spent hours in their apartment building's complimentary gym. Although they were nothing alike, he still wanted to know her, and it wasn't as though he could very well discriminate against someone just because they came from money, for his adopted parents had more money than any two people could ever spend in ten lifetimes… even in Orange County.

"It's not what I usually have," he admitted, reaching for his salad, "but it'll do." Immediately, the general practitioner watched her tense, frowning in apology and regret. "Hey, don't worry about it," he attempted to reassure her. "Next time, I'll get the food, and we'll call it even."

"Are you sure, because, if you don't like it, I could go out and get you something else."

"Marissa, it's fine." He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his, squeezing it affectionately. "Just… relax, eat your food, and tell me something about yourself."

"What?"

He pondered for a moment, resting his chin on his free hand, still unwilling to let go of her. Finally, when he noticed her start to fidget, he released her hand but kept his arm still laid out across the table. "Tell me something no one else in this city knows about you."

"Alright," the blonde beauty quickly agreed, gracing him with a radiant smile, "but you have to return the favor."

"Of course," Ryan consented. "I wouldn't think otherwise."

"Okay, so when I was a little girl, my Mom sent me to our neighbors to see if we could borrow any pepper. I can't remember what she was cooking or who was there, but I remember that we had company," she confessed. "Because we lived in a trailer park, the houses were pretty close together, so my Mom let me run little errands like that all the time for her."

"Wait a minute," he stopped her, already intrigued. "You're not a local? By looking at you, I would have thought that…"

"That I grew up on Park Avenue with a silver spoon in my mouth," Marissa finished for him, already shaking her head to negate the idea. "Far from it. In fact, the first time I ever used real silverware was when I was eight and I spent the night at my best friend's house. My Mom was a firm believer in plastic spoons and fine, Styrofoam china."

"Well, aren't you full of surprises? Please," he prompted her, "finish your story. I shouldn't have interrupted."

"No big deal," she waved off his concerns, taking a bite of her pita sandwich before continuing. "So, anyway, I eventually made it back to my house without any pepper, and I proceeded to tell my Mom that our neighbor's husband had suffered a heart attack and they were waiting for the ambulance to get there." Laughing at the memory, her eyes twinkled with mischief. "My Mom was so worried, she decided she was going over there to see if they needed any help, despite not having any medical training. Then, and only then, did I admit that I had made the whole thing up. It was the first time I ever lied."

"And the last?"

"Afraid not," Marissa owned up, "although I try not to make a habit out of it. Sometimes, in life, a little white lie is necessary."

"I have a brother," Ryan shared, commiserating with her, "so I understand where you're coming from."

Responding, she pointed her fork back at her own chest before saying, "sister," sharing with him her own sibling information. "Now," she encouraged after swallowing her bite of food, "it's your turn. Bare your soul, Doctor Atwood. Tell me a secret, please."

He decided to take their conversation to another level, to intensify it. "I'm adopted."

Instantly serious, she set her utensil down and folded her arms in her lap, focusing all of her attention upon him. "Have you ever met your birth parents?"

"I lived with them for five years," Ryan divulged.

"Did they…," she averted her gaze, and he could tell that she was feeling sympathy for him. "Did they die?"

"I have no idea." Shrugging his shoulders in a blasé manner he continued to explain. "When I started kindergarten, it became harder for my parents to get away with their behavior. My teacher became suspicious when she saw the bruises on my arms, and she contacted the local authorities. After an investigation, I was sent to live with a foster family." His story was two fold. He wanted Marissa to know about his past. Although he wasn't ashamed of it, he didn't share his history with just anyone, and he felt she was worthy of the confession, but, on the other hand, he still had his doubts that her broken collar bone was caused by clumsiness. So, as a means to draw out her own story of abuse, he decided to reveal his. "The older a kid gets, the less likely he'll ever get adopted, but I was lucky. Just before I turned nine, my parents decided that their son, my younger brother, needed a sibling, and they chose me. From the moment I stepped foot in their house, they became my family, and I haven't ever considered trying to find my birth parents again."

"My Dad skipped town before I was born. He was a few years older than my Mom, but they were both young, too young and too immature to have a kid, but I was on the way, nevertheless, when he ran out on my Mom. All I know about him is that he was some rich kid who met my Mom at a concert, that he dated her to get a rise out of his parents, and, when things got a little too real for him, he went back home to his Newport Beach mansion, never to be heard of again."

"Newport Beach?"

"Yeah," she clarified, waving her hand in a dismissive manner while taking a sip of her water. "It's this tiny bubble of a town in Southern California where the only things brighter than the sun reflecting off the water are the diamond rings on the society wives' hands and the shiny caps on everyone's teeth."

"No, I know where it is," he told her. "In fact, that's where I'm from. My parents and brother still live in Newport." Realizing that she must not be from the east coast either, the doctor asked, "are you from the area, too?"

"Riverside."

"I know it. Originally, I'm from Chino."

"Not to break out into a Disney moment here, but I guess it really is a small world after all, isn't it," Marissa joked, laughing at the absurdity of the situation. "Of all the millions of people in this overcrowded city, two former SoCal residents run into each other at a hospital and strike up a friendship."

She hadn't taken his well dangled bait, but the turn of topic still interested Ryan. "Do you ever go home?"

"I haven't been back to visit since I left when I was nineteen. What about you?"

Before he could reply, her phone sounded from inside of her purse. "Go ahead and answer it," the physician told her, not minding the interruption for he was used to them himself.

"Oh, that's okay. I wasn't getting a phone call," the blonde declined. "I set my alarm so I wouldn't lose track of time. I have to be back at the office in fifteen minutes, so, with traffic, I should probably be leaving." Without waiting for him to respond, she stood and held her hand out towards him. "Thanks for meeting me. I had a good time."

"So did I."

"If you're willing, I'd like to have lunch again."

"Oh, I'm willing," Ryan assured her. "How about the same time, same place on Monday?"

"I'll be here," she agreed with a gentle smile.

He watched her pivot around to leave only to accidentally run into her own chair, ramming her side into the metal rung at the top. Apparently, she really was awkward and ungainly, and he laughed at her inability to go a single hour without hurting herself, but, when she winced in pain, doubling over, he became concerned. "Marissa?"

As he went to reach out for her, she wrenched her body away from his, almost as if she was desperate for him to remain a safe distance from her. "Don't touch me," she directed, her jaw clenched in focus. "I'm alright."

"You don't look alright. Let me see your side."

"Ryan, you can't just go around examining women on the sidewalk. I'm fine," she reassured him, her tone, the second time, much kinder. Rolling her eyes in self mockery, she confessed, "the treadmill and I had a disagreement. It won."

"You're saying your treadmill hurt you?"

"I got distracted last night when I was running," she took a deep, cleansing breath before standing up as straight as her still injured collar bone would allow her, "I missed a step, and, before I knew what was happening, I was falling off the machine, landing on the edge of it with my side. I was lucky I didn't break anything… else." Looking at her watch, she started to back up away from the table. "Look, I really have to go, or I'm going to be late. If I'm not feeling better by Monday, we can take our lunch back to your office and you can check me out then, okay?"

Not waiting for an answer, she disappeared into the crowd of people milling around the carousel. Despite the wide grin she had flashed towards him before leaving, the doctor doubted the sincerity of her words. Her eyes didn't shine when she offered him that one last bright beam, and, instead of the happiness which should have accompanied the gesture, all he found in her expressive sapphire orbs was an inherent sadness. There was more to Marissa Cooper than she let those around her see, and, the more she tried to hide behind a cheery personality, the more he wanted to find out all her secrets. Desperate, he knew he was going to have to ask for help from Seth. No matter how much he dreaded using that word and his brother's name in the same thought, of the two Cohen boys, his sibling definitely had the stalker routine down to a refined science, so his assistance was definitely needed.

"How's it hangin', Homie-G?"

"Seth, if you ever ask me that again," Ryan threatened his younger brother, "yours will no longer be hanging, and don't think that just because I'm a doctor I won't know how to cause maximum pain."

"I have two words for you," the brunette returned, sounding quite smug. "Hippocratic Oath."

"You're not my patient, and I'm not your physician."

"Still," his only sibling returned, "you swore to do no harm."

"Except I'm pretty sure the Board of Medical Review would consider me making sure you never procreate a service of good will. Hell, they might even nominate me for the Nobel Peace Prize."

Conceding, Seth gave in. "Alright, Lorena Bobbitt, you win. I just woke up, so I'm not at my top form for bantering. Plus, I'm distracted."

"I don't think I want to know."

Without listening, the lanky brunette continued. "You know how I hate the afternoons. Mom and Dad are both still at work, I'm still in a post-sleep haze of drowsiness, and you're usually at hospital. Speaking of which, why aren't you?" He didn't allow Ryan to answer before pressing on. "So, to help curb my boredom, I've gotten into Soapnet. Everyday, there's always new shows on in the afternoon for me to watch. Well, technically, they're not new shows, but they're new to me. Do you know how hot Nicolette Sheridan was when she was younger?"

Perplexed, the physician wrinkled his brow. "Who?"

"You know, that actress who has a thing for mullets, the one engaged to Michael Bolton. Anyway, she was on this show called Knot's Landing when she was younger. It was a spin off of Dallas, but that's beside the point."

"As are most of the things you say," the blonde quipped.

"She played this character named Paige Matheson, and she was freaking fine as hell. She's my television icon of the past crush of the moment."

Deciding it was best to simply play along with his brother's games instead of trying to get him back on track before the younger man wanted to focus, Ryan found himself asking, "and what's wrong with her now?"

"She's too pinched looking, like she's constantly constipated."

"Seth," the general practitioner sighed, wondering how in the world he found himself in the midst of his current conversation. Was there a way to prevent his sibling's mind from wandering; was there a way to curb his insanity? He didn't think so. "That pinched look is not from constipation; she's had too much plastic surgery."

"I know that," the younger of the two men defended himself. "She lives in Hollyweird. If she was really constipated, she'd just get an enema. It's currently the most popular fad diet around here, so she'd get double the pleasure from the procedure."

"If you say one more word about Nicolette Sheridan, I'm going to hang up this phone!"

"Dude, untwist your Calvin's. Sheesh." Sighing dramatically, he chastised, "if you didn't want to talk about her in the first place, you should have just said something. Now," he paused, taking a breath, "let me just think for a moment. I can't recall why exactly I called you."

"That's because you didn't call me, Seth. I called you."

"Oh," the younger man was temporarily at a loss for words. "That's weird. Did someone die?"

"Sorry, no one that we know, so it looks like you won't be going to any wakes any time soon."

"Damn," the curly haired brunette swore, sounding disappointed. "I really like the food they serve at those."

"I know."

"Well, if no one died, and if there isn't a birthday or a holiday we have to buy a present for, why are you voluntarily calling me? You never do that."

Groaning inwardly, Ryan admitted, "I need your help."

"Can you say that again," his only sibling asked of him, sounding too pleased with himself for his own good. "After all, I so rarely hear those words coming from your perpetually scowling mouth. You know, bro, while it takes forty-six muscles to frown, it only takes four to flip 'em the bird."

"I'm not doing this; I'm not going to pet your ego for ten minutes just to get you to give me some advice. Will you help me or not? After all the times I've helped you…"

"Dude, take a xanax." Removing any sarcasm or humor from his tone, Seth offered, "of course I'll help you. That's what brothers are for. Now, what do you need?"

"Okay, so there's this girl…"

Excitedly, the brunette asked, "you got laid?"

"No, we're just friends."

"Oh. But…"

"And, before you say anything else," Ryan interrupted him, "she has a boyfriend, so we won't be friends with benefits either. What I need your help with is getting her to talk to me. I think she's hiding something from me, something that has to do with this guy. I think he might be hurting her."

"With this boyfriend that's standing in your way of being with her," his sibling prompted knowingly.

Without either the conviction or the energy to argue, the doctor simply let the statement slide. "No matter what I try, you always get me to talk, even when I don't want to," he explained. "I need to know what you do."

"That's easy, I just annoy you until the point where spilling your guts seems more appealing than me staying in the same room with you. But this is a special talent," Seth warned. "I don't think you're exasperating enough to pull it off."

"So then what do you suggest?"

"Well, if this chick's dog of a boyfriend really is smacking her around, you need to sharpen your claws, step up your game, and prepare yourself for a battle royale between two in heat tomcats, and, to do this, my teddy bear of a brother, you're going to have to resort to the age old science of research; you're going to have to google her tight ass."

"You want me to look her up online?" He couldn't keep the note of doubt from entering his voice.

"It's perfect. If she's ever filed a complaint about him with the police, if he's ever been arrested before, and if he's ever injured her so badly she had to go to the hospital, it'll show up in the search. Plus, you'll probably be able to find a picture or two of the guy, and you'd be surprised how much the human eye can detect from a simple, two-dimensional five by seven glossy photo."

Ryan had no idea why his dark haired sibling knew so much about researching people online, and he really didn't want to ask. Apparently, his estimation that Seth had some stalker-esque qualities hadn't been that far from the truth. Accepting the guidance, he went to hang up, for he had some research to do. "Thanks," he acknowledged the younger man's help. "I'm going to hang up now, but, before I do, can I offer you a word of advice?"

"Your wisdom is always appreciated, especially when it concerns the ladies."

"Just get a damn pet already, Seth," the blonde implored him. "If you would have managed to fit one more animal reference into that sentence of yours a couple of minutes ago, I might have gotten confused and thought I was talking to a zoo keeper."

"You noticed, huh," his sibling asked. He could hear the smile in the brunette's voice. "I must admit, the idea of a pet is in my list of the top three things I think about the most. At first I was considering a dog, as you know, but, now, I'm thinking I might go with something…"

"Goodbye, Seth," Ryan ended both his brother's rambling and their phone conversation with a simple flick of his wrist as he closed his cell. Turning the device off so that the younger man couldn't call him back, he turned around in his desk chair to face his computer, cracked his knuckles, and set to work researching Marissa Cooper.

After fifteen minutes, he learned three things about her. One, in every single picture of her online, and there were many, she always had on long sleeves, something he found peculiar and extremely telling. Secondly, her boyfriend, Tanner Meriden was some big shot in the media industry, and, because of his wealth and social standing, the two of them attended almost every important New York event. Finally, he realized quickly that never a negative a word had been uttered about the executive. If he was hurting the beautiful blonde, no one knew about it, especially not the press. If he wanted to get to the bottom of his new friend's secrets, he was simply going to have to wait for her to trust him enough to open up, and, to do that, he needed to spend more time with her. It looked like he was going to have to dust off his tuxedo and start attending all the numerous charity events he was invited to.

Marissa Cooper loved her Mom, and she knew that her Mom loved her. What she didn't know though was whether or not Julie Cooper loved her daughters or herself more. Maybe the eighteen year old had been too young to become a parent. Her own childhood had been far from perfect. Growing up with three sisters in a poor home, there was never enough money or interest to go around, so Julie sought that attention through other means – by being a party girl, by dating older men, by ditching school to get high. But her quest for approval had only led to a teenage pregnancy which, in turn, led to her repeating the same mistakes she had resented her parents for making. She, too, became a mother who never seemed to have enough money to make ends meet, and, unsatisfied with her own life, she had never been able to give her children the notice she had craved as a young girl and the consideration her kids had deserved.

Marissa had been four when Julie had gotten pregnant for the second time. Caitlyn, her younger sister's, father had not been any better than James Cooper, for he, too, ran off and abandoned an expecting Julie. Throughout Marissa's childhood, it was the three of them against the world, with the occasional freeloading waste of a boyfriend for her Mom to distract herself with. They lived in the same trailer park that Julie and her sisters had grown up in as little girls, they struggled to pay their bills, and, eventually, Caitlyn followed in her mother's footsteps, acting out and seeking attention in all the wrong ways. Marissa, on the other hand, escaped. She packed her bags when she was nineteen, took a Greyhound across country to New York City, and struggled for years to make ends meet until she met Tanner. Not only had he changed her life, but he had changed her family's as well.

Julie no longer worked as a waitress in the greasy diner down the street from their house, Caitlyn had settled down and agreed to go to school since Tanner offered to pay for it, and the cycle of poverty had been broken. Her mom and sister adored her boyfriend, told Marissa all the time how lucky she was to have him, and Tanner's generosity towards her family was just one more reason why the beautiful blonde felt not only grateful towards the man she lived with but also indebted. That said though, she sometimes found herself wondering if gratitude and obligation were good enough reasons to stay with someone in a relationship where the love had long since disappeared… if it had ever existed in the first place, especially since there was now a man in her life who treated her with such warmth and consideration.

"Hey, Mom," Marissa greeted the older woman when she heard her mother pick up the phone.

"Well, this is a wonderful surprise," Julie prattled on, happy to hear from her oldest daughter.

Sometimes, despite the fact that she lived in the lap of luxury, the younger woman found herself nostalgic for the life she had once shared with her mom and sister in that Riverside trailer park. Their existence had been far from perfect, and, while she had been experiencing it, Marissa had hated the hand-me-down clothes and budgeted expenses, but, looking back, she realized it had been real, it had been theirs, and, despite all its flaws, it was what she thought of when she heard the word home. Often she dismissed her sentimental ideas as a product of being melancholy and longing for the sun and warmth of California, but sometimes she wondered if there wasn't a certain amount of veracity to her theory.

After finishing her very detailed account of her recent excursion to the mall, most of which Marissa ignored, Julie recaptured her daughter's attention by asking, "is something wrong?"

"What?"

"Honey, you're like clockwork. You call me once a week on Sundays at exactly eleven a.m., my time. Your pattern never varies, so, when I get an unexpected call in the middle of the afternoon, I have to wonder if something is wrong."

Deciding it best to just get to the point, the younger woman opened up and explained, "I've been thinking a lot recently about my relationship with Tanner."

"Aw, sweetie, are you hoping that he proposes soon?"

"No, Mom," Marissa quickly denied, surprised and slightly confused by her immediate pessimistic reaction to the very idea of marrying her boyfriend. "Why would you even ask that?" Shaking her head in a negative fashion despite the fact that Julie could not see her actions, she admitted, "I've been thinking about leaving him."

"Why on earth would you ever do that?" Becoming frustrated, the older woman took an exasperated breath before lecturing her daughter. "Look at everything that man has done for us, for you and your career, for me, and for your sister's future. He's been one amazing stroke of luck for this family, and, to be honest, I cannot think of one good reason why you would throw something so wonderful away. He loves you, Marissa, and you love him."

"That's just it, Mom, I don't think he does love me, and I know that I don't love him."

Perceptively, Julie questioned, "is this all because of those other women you've told me about before? How many times do I have to tell you that it's natural for a man to cheat? As long as he keeps that part of his life separate from his life with you, you have nothing to complain about. Tanner takes care of you, he supports you, and he gives us anything we might want. If that's not love, I don't know what is."

"But shouldn't I look forward to seeing him," the blonde compelled her mother to understand, "shouldn't I do everything in my power to want to make him smile, and, when he does, feel as if there's nothing else as beautiful as his happiness? Shouldn't I get excited when I see him; shouldn't my palms start to sweat, and shouldn't butterflies take over my stomach, twirling and dancing until the point where I'm simply a ball of eager nerves? Shouldn't he make me blush with his compliments, and shouldn't I be the only one who can bring a magical twinkle of delight to his eyes?"

"Marissa Cooper, have you met someone? You're not cheating on Tanner, are you?"

Suddenly nervous, the younger woman lowered her voice until the point where she was whispering. "What if I have?"

"Then you should stay away from this new guy," her mother advised her. "The only thing he'll do is ruin your relationship with the man who means so much to us. I know how wonderful infatuation feels, but you felt these same exact things when you first met Tanner. Eventually, the ecstasy diminishes, and, by the time it's gone, so will be your crush and your boyfriend. Drop this, Marissa," her mother ordered, "before you do something you can't take back."

Thanking her Mom for the advice before quickly hanging up, the beautiful blonde went back to her cleaning. It was Friday, after all, so that meant she needed to scrub all the floors in the entire apartment. Besides, her Mom was right. Whatever it was that she was feeling for Ryan would pass, and, when it did, she needed Tanner to still be there in her life; they all did.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

She hated mirrors, always had and, if her life continued as it was currently going, always would. It wasn't as if Marissa couldn't appreciate their practical value. She knew that they both served a purpose in decorating and helped make sure she didn't walk out of the house with her skirt tucked up into her pantyhose, but she also knew that mirrors didn't lie. Even the ones that were shaped to distort your figure couldn't hide the truth, and, if there was one thing she tried to avoid, it was the irrefutability of reality. With a mirror present, you couldn't hide from yourself. The reflection forced you to confront whatever demons you had, the ones that, without a mirror, you could pretend did not exist; the reflection forced you to give up your illusions.

Marissa had been six when she first discovered her dislike for mirrors. Her mother had surprised her with a spur of the moment trip to a visiting carnival. Julie had arranged for Caitlyn to stay with their neighbor for the evening, so it was just the two of them. She got to ride the merry-go-round, the kiddy roller coaster, and the Ferris wheel. As a treat, her mom bought her pink cotton candy for dinner, and she even let her play a few games. On their way out of the carnival, they had stopped at the fun house. Because Marissa had been scared, Julie went in first, telling her daughter to follow behind her, but, in the hall of mirrors, the six year old had lost sight of her mother and had become frozen in place. Without being able to move, she had been forced to stare at her own reflection, and she realized there was nothing to be frightened of. In fact, in that moment, she had felt truly loved for one of the first times in her life. But, of course, everything had come crashing down around her. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Julie talking quietly with a stranger. Money was exchanged between them, and the unknown man gave her mom a little bag filled with white powder. As a child, Marissa wasn't sure what her mother had purchased, but what she did know was that Julie had not taken her to the carnival out of the goodness of her heart; instead, she had used her daughter as an excuse. In that moment, Marissa had turned back to the mirrors, and, for the first time, saw the truth. She was nothing.

During middle school, the idea was reinforced. When it came time for Marissa to attend her first real, boy-girl dance, she had been ecstatic. It didn't matter to her that she didn't have a boyfriend. Most of her friends from school didn't, but she still wanted to go. She wanted to whisper excitedly in the corner with the other girls, drink really disgusting punch, and maybe have her very first slow dance, so, with that in mind, she started working odd jobs around the trailer park to earn extra money. She washed cars, pulled weeds, even carried groceries for some of her elderly neighbors. Eventually, she made enough money to buy a used dress from a second hand store. All on her own, she got ready. She fixed her own hair, applied her own makeup, and borrowed a pair of her mom's shoes despite them being two sizes too big. By the time she arrived at the dance, she had felt like a princess, but, before she shared one whisper with her friends, before she took one sip of punch, and before she even saw a single cute boy, she had been whisked off to the bathroom with some of the other girls, and they had crowded around the big mirror to check their appearance. There, standing beside all those new dresses, Marissa had realized just how un-special her dress was, how un-special she was, and, for the second time in her life, she was reminded of the fact that she was nothing.

From that point on, she avoided mirrors as much as possible. Of course she had to use them, but, when she did, she always refused to meet her own eyes in the reflection, for the eyes looking back at her, the empty, haunted, sad eyes, told her just how worthless she really was. She had left home, left her mother, and her sister, and their trailer park behind, hoping to find a place where she could be something. That's when she had come to New York, but the city that never sleeps only seemed to compound her fears, reinforce her self-doubt, and highlight all her flaws, further destroying her self-esteem. And then she had met Tanner.

Tanner wasn't a nothing; he was a something, a someone who was going places and achieving great things. With him, Marissa felt that just maybe she might be able to become important as well. When he had shown interest in her, for the first time since she was six, she felt important. So, with that in mind, she allowed him to mold her into the woman he felt she should be, but, unfortunately, Tanner loved mirrors. He loved to force her to stand before them so he could point out and dissect every physical blemish, every emotional scar she tried to hide, and every mental defect she would have to fix if she wanted to someday be a something, a someone like he was. And she tried to fix her mistakes, but it seemed like the more she tried to fix, the more he found to fault her with. Even after years of being with Tanner, she was still a nothing, and the mirror she was standing before that evening told her exactly that.

The dress was designer, couture, a one of a kind piece that Ralph Lauren had made expressly for her at Tanner's request. It was elegant but still fresh with its bold pattern and stark color scheme. If she had seen it on a mannequin in a store window or on a runway model, Marissa would have been envious of the fact that she couldn't have the dress for herself, but that still didn't make her feel comfortable in the expensive gown. When she was wearing it, she felt as if it made all her flaws seem more pronounced simply because the dress itself was flawless. Her salon styled hair, her professionally applied makeup, her delicate, sophisticated manicure and pedicure, and her ridiculously extravagant heels did nothing to alleviate her uncertainty; instead, they, too, only added to her misgivings. The only thing about her ensemble that she liked that evening was the wide brimmed, black hat that hung low over her face and allowed her to hide beneath its great proportions. No one would be able to look into her eyes unless they contorted their body, bending it and slouching until the point that they could peer underneath the hat at just the right angle. The hat provided her with an unusual source of privacy, and she hoped to use it at the party that evening to hide from the people that she knew saw through her fancy façade just as easily as the mirror did.

"Are you admiring my work," Tanner asked from behind her, a note of disapproval in his voice. "You know, vanity is a rather unattractive quality in a woman."

Although she had not heard him approach or even enter their shared apartment, his sudden intrusion into her thoughts did not startle the young blonde, for she was always on guard, always prepared, always ready for his verbal assaults. "I was just lost in thought," Marissa answered, lifting her face up to meet his through the mirror. Within seconds, she realized that her boyfriend was in a bitter mood.

"That's good," he stated as he stalked across the room and came to stand behind her, his hands angrily finding the fleshiest part of her hips, "because there's nothing about your appearance this evening that should be admired." Quickly, he listed off the reasons for his disapproval. "You're too wide for this dress, especially with the pattern, because it doesn't hide your figure. When I ordered this dress, I told you to work on becoming leaner, didn't I?"

"You did," she was quick to reassure him. "And I increased my cardio, but, perhaps, I should increase it some more."

"I'd think that would be a good idea," Tanner instructed her.

"What else do you see that needs improvement?"

"The jacket pulls at your shoulders slightly," her boyfriend insisted, motioning towards the offending area of her body. "Obviously, you haven't toned down your arms as much as I told you to." Without a word, she listened to his complaints, knowing no amount of pacification would appease him. "And I don't see enough cleavage. Maybe we should consider some breast implants."

"If you think that is best."

"For now though, we don't have time to fix all these mistakes," the older man sighed in defeat. "So, I guess it's a good thing I thought ahead. I'm used to you disappointing me, Marissa, so I've prepared for the fact that you wouldn't be able to pull this dress off."

Immediately, she responded, "thank you," knowing that the man she lived with would want her to express her appreciation towards his concern.

"Oh, you're going to do more than say a few meek words of gratitude," Tanner threatened as he lifted a glittering piece of jewelry out of his pocket. As he hooked it around her neck, she noticed that it was an overstated, almost obscene piece of jewelry made out of black and white diamonds. As it rested against her breastbone, she could feel the extreme weight of the piece, and it made her feel even more insecure, more out of place in the finery. Bringing her back from her thoughts, the brunette ordered, "you're going to show me just how much you appreciate me."

"Tanner, if I get undressed, we'll never make it to the party in time," she offered as an excuse. Knowing that he would drink excessively and, perhaps, even imbibe in some illegal substances to the point where he would probably pass out unconscious, she asked, "could it wait until we get back later this evening?"

"No," he glared at her. "It can't wait." Ripping the hat away from her head painfully before tossing it aside, the pins that were holding it to her taking some of her hair with it, he reached for her, pushing her down on her knees with a brute strength she couldn't fight back even if she had the will to. Without another word, she fell to her knees, closing her eyes in resignation. The sound of her boyfriend's pants being unzipped was like a gunshot going off in their vast bedroom compared to the eerily silent stillness surrounding them. "Now," Tanner ordered rudely, grabbing her face and pulling her towards his awaiting erection, "suck me off."

As always, she did as she was told. Somewhere between his brusque order and his eventual release, she braved to open her eyes and gazed into the mirror before them. What she saw made her visibly shudder. Tears of humiliation, of pain, of desperation clung to her smoky lashes, but, with a strength she didn't know she possessed, Marissa kept the saline drops of emotion from falling. Like always though, she didn't see the spectrum of feelings in her deep sapphire gaze; all she saw was nothing - always and forever, nothing.

Even before Ryan was adopted and taken into the Cohen household, he had always hated parties. As someone who preferred the silence of his own company or the conversation of one friend at a time, he found forced celebrations with too many people crammed into a single tight space to be both exhausting and tedious, especially when he was with people he either didn't like or didn't know. However, in Chino, parties had been much more manageable than what he had to grown accustom to in Newport.

In Chino, all he had to do was wait for his parents to get sufficiently drunk before he could sneak out, escape, and be by himself. It didn't matter to Ryan if he missed the games or didn't get to eat a piece of birthday cake; he would trade anything for a few minutes of silence in the local park or school playground. But then, his whole life changed. Instead of birthday parties where the kids would play _Pin the Tail on the Donkey _or break open a piñata, in Newport, he got invited to parties thrown at amusement parks, and, instead of accompanying his parents to their friends' houses so they could have card nights, Sandy and Kirsten took he and Seth to extravagant galas and sit down, seven course formal dinners. He had a closet full of tuxedos and shiny shoes, but, still, he didn't enjoy parties.

As he grew older, he learned how to fade into the background. His brother helped. Always ready to perform, Seth would crack a joke that would make Ryan laugh, helping to loosen him up, or he would simply sit and pretend to hate the parties as much as his adopted sibling did. Eventually, people learned that Ryan wasn't rude, that he was simply not a fan of crowds, and, as other new kids moved into the neighborhood, he became less of a curiosity, and the other party goers would ignore him.

It didn't matter how much things had changed for him, Ryan still abhorred social gatherings, and the fact that he was willing to brave one for a woman he claimed only to be friends with and nothing more proved just how much he cared about Marissa, as Seth had so smugly pointed out that morning during their daily phone conversation. He had actually dressed up, fixed his unmanageable hair to the best of his ability, and plastered his face with a fake smile without even the guarantee that Marissa would be at that party, and, if she wasn't, Ryan knew that, despite his lack of interest in the city's nightlife, he would continue attending the benefits and the art shows just for the chance to run into his new acquaintance.

"So, which are you – the playboy, the fortune five-hundred whiz kid, or the arm candy?"

Turning to address the person beside him, Ryan found himself conversing with one of the party's servers. "Excuse me?"

"Well, from what I've learned about the people who attend these things, most men fit into one of those three categories, and I was just curious which one you were."

"Aren't you afraid that I could possibly be offended by your question and go to your boss to speak with them about your attitude and offensiveness?"

Instead of answering his inquiry, the young girl tilted her head to the side and observed him closely. "Now I know that you're none of those things, and, for that reason alone, you won't try to get me fired. Even if you would have been a playboy, an up and coming businessman, or a piece of arm candy, you still wouldn't have said a thing to my boss, because you would have considered it beneath you. So what exactly do you do?"

"I'm a doctor," Ryan replied, hiding a smirk. "I take it you've worked a few of these events in the past."

"Are we a fan of the understatement, Mr. M.D.?"

He nodded his head in amusement. "You're bold."

"And you're standing here in this corner all by yourself," the server pointed out, "and you're not even drinking. If we weren't in a traditional gallery, I'd think that you were actually one of the pieces on display – a piece of performance art. Your title would be 'ennui personified.'"

Pulling one of his hands out of his tuxedo pants' pocket to show the girl his beeper, Ryan explained, "I'm on call tonight, so I can't drink, and, even if I wasn't, I'm not really a fan of wine or champagne."

"You're a beer guy?"

"Seven and Seven."

The girl wrinkled her nose. "Man, only fifty year olds with more sob stories than a country song order Seven and Seven's."

Narrowing his gaze, the physician asked, "and you would know this how?"

"I bartend as well," she admitted, shrugging her shoulders in a self-effacing manner. "So, if you're not a fan of the art, and you're not here for the booze, why are you here, Mr. M.D.?"

"I'm waiting for a friend."

"A male friend or a lady friend?"

"Why does it matter," he demanded, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

"I'm just trying to figure out which way you go," the server responded. "You look straight to me, but, in this day and age, you can't really go by appearance alone."

Rolling his eyes in exasperation more with the situation and less with her, Ryan joked, "and to think we've come so far. To answer your question," he continued after a moment of silence, "I'm waiting for a woman."

"Your girlfriend?"

"If I said no, would you try to ask me out?"

Returning the deflective question, the young woman asked, "if I did, would you say yes?"

"No," the doctor admitted quickly, not wanting to go there, "and, no, she's not my girlfriend either."

"But you want her to be," the server realized.

"Why would you say that?"

"Because no straight guy would voluntarily come to a by-invitation-only art exhibit for a girl he didn't want to get into the sack."

Taken aback by her forthright response, Ryan turned to stare at her. "Boy, you really don't hold anything back, do you? Just for curiosity sake, you wouldn't happen to know a Seth Cohen, would you?"

"Does he live in Queens?"

"No," he returned, "Newport Beach, California."

"And how the hell would I know anyone from the west coast," the girl protested. "Buddy, just because I serve food in Soho doesn't mean I live here. I'm working two different jobs just to afford the rent on a run down walkup in the Bronx." Taking a deep breath, she nodded towards the entrance when they both heard the door being opened before changing the subject. "Well, I know that's not your girl."

Too bad it was. "Why do you say that," the physician questioned. "Do you know Marissa?"

"Anyone with eyes in this city knows who Marissa Cooper is; she's Tanner Meriden's live-in girlfriend. The word is that he's probably going to propose soon." Looking back up at him, the server made an apologetic face. "If that's the girl you were waiting for, Mr. M.D., you might as well ask me out, because, even though you're a doctor, you're no Tanner Meriden. The guy has more money than the Vanderbilts and more connections than the mayor."

"Shit."

"Yeah," the young woman sympathized, sighing in agreement. "Sucks to be you right now, doesn't it?" Redirecting their conversation, she asked, "so, how'd the two of you meet?"

"She was a patient."

Chuckling, she teased, "kinky."

"You would know."

"True," the girl nodded in concurrence.

A silence fell between them as they both watched Marissa and Tanner, thousand watt smiles illuminating their glowing faces, walk around the room, greeting and conversing with their friends. For some reason Ryan didn't understand, he felt himself becoming severely aggravated. "I don't get it?"

"What," his new, anonymous friend asked. "How any two people could be that stinking perfect?"

"No," he contradicted. "I don't get why she always wears long sleeves. It's eighty degrees out there, and she's in a long dress and a jacket. Even with the air conditioning cranked up in here, I'm still sweating beneath my collar."

"Are you sure that's just not nerves from seeing your girl?" A well directed glare silenced the server momentarily before she pressed on. "As for her clothes, what, do you work in Manhattan but live in Minnesota? That's her signature look. Marissa Cooper never shows her arms."

"I read about that in the papers."

"That's because it's legendary," the young woman stated, sounding quite perturbed with the doctor's lack of knowledge concerning fashion.

Still protesting, he argued, "but I bet that she has great arms."

"You have an arm fetish, Mr. M.D.," she queried, surprised by the idea. "That's… unique."

Ignoring her, Ryan asked, "you've never wondered why though, why she never shows her arms? You've never thought that maybe she's trying to hide something?"

"No," the server replied automatically. "What exactly are you trying to get at?"

"Nothing," the physician quickly denied. "I'm just speculating."

"And trying to cause trouble where trouble's not needed," she accused him. "Look, I've got to get back to work. If you can manage to pick your jaw up from the floor, I'd appreciate it. Drool is always a bloody bitch to mop up."

And, with that, just as unexpectedly as she had arrived, the young woman disappeared, leaving him alone, once again, in the corner of the bustling, fervent party.

Never before had Ryan ever been in a home that felt so cold, so distant, so unforgiving. Even when he lived in Chino, despite the poverty, despite the hopelessness many toiled under, the homes at least had sparks of their owner's personalities, but, as he wandered around the penthouse apartment Marissa shared with her long term boyfriend, he felt a chill dance its way down his spine. It was an unwelcoming feeling, almost a warning telling him to turn around, walk away, and never come back. But he wanted to be where she was, and, if that meant ignoring his harsh surroundings and forcing the uncomfortable feeling he was experiencing away, he would do so.

However, what he couldn't ignore, what he couldn't force aside was the sudden mistrust he was facing in connection with his new friend. The way she dressed, the differences in her behavior when they weren't alone, the reaction she had to her boyfriend finding out about his presence in her life, those were all things he could excuse away, but the one thing that was bothering him the most was a simple technicality. While Marissa changed out of her gown and into something more comfortable, she had urged him to make himself at home, to take off his jacket, look around the apartment if he wished to do so, or simply sit down in the living room and she would join him as quickly as possible. Taking her up on the first and second suggestion, he had kicked off his new, shiny black dress shoes, relishing the sensation of removing his pinched toes from their restricting confines, stripped off his jacket, tossed aside his tie, untucked and unbuttoned his oxford shirt, and rolled up his shirtsleeves before meandering his way through the entrance hall, past the formal dining room, around the impressive gourmet kitchen, circumventing the study, and, finally, ending his journey in the large, expansive living room, puzzled and then irritated when he couldn't find the staircase.

Hearing the woman he was starting to doubt behind him, Ryan turned around to watch her smiling face approach him from what he could only imagine was the hall that led to her bedroom… the bedroom she shared with Tanner Meriden. "Aw," she sighed, plopping down contentedly on the couch and patting the cushion next to her, signifying that she wanted him to join her. "I feel much better."

And it showed. Although she looked beyond words amazing in her formal wear, the doctor realized that he preferred her causal appearance. Dressed so simply as she was in a pair of silk pajamas with her face free of makeup and her hair brushed back and secured in an innocent ponytail, he could tell that she, unlike at the party, actually felt at ease in her own skin. He wouldn't go so far as to claim that she was relaxed, but she definitely wasn't as on edge and self-restricted as she normally was.

Finally, pushing away his thoughts, he calmly stated, "me, too."

"Did you get a chance to look around? Tanner has some wonderful pieces of art, some quite rare. He had this Chinese vase flown in from…"

"Marissa," he interrupted her, surprising himself when he not only stopped her steady flow of words by saying her name but also by reaching out and taking her right hand in both of his. "I don't want to talk about art, and I certainly don't want to talk about Tanner."

"But you were at the gallery tonight," she insisted, appearing flustered at his apparent lack of interest in a topic she had assumed he would enjoy. "So I thought…"

"I went to that party tonight, not to see the art, not to mingle with important people, but to see you."

"Oh."

"And, to answer your first question," he rushed on, needing to stay focused so he wouldn't lose his nerve in confronting her, "I did get to glance around the apartment. What I found, I didn't like."

"Well, it's all top of the line," the beautiful, often timid woman insisted, pulling her hand free from his grasp. "I don't see why you wouldn't like it. Tanner designed it all himself, and, if he was interested in the publicity, we could have this place featured in any architectural or interior design magazine we wanted."

"I'm sure it's great… if cold, industrial, and modern is your taste, but what bothered me was the fact that there was no staircase."

Her furrowed brow spoke of her confusion. "Most New York apartments don't have stairs."

"I know," Ryan returned, watching her closely. "In fact, that is a point that, if you remember correctly back to the day I treated you in the emergency room, I actually pointed out to you."

"And your reason for bringing it now is?"

"You said that you fell down a flight of stairs in your apartment. That's how you explained your injuries," he explained, standing up and backing away from her and tossing out his arms in an accusatory manner. "Where are the stairs, Marissa? I don't see any. Are they hiding somewhere? Did Tanner decide he didn't like them anymore, that they were ruining the atheistic value of his perfect penthouse?"

She shrank back, attempting to hide herself in the pillows and cushions of the couch, fearful of his anger. "Why are you getting so mad at me, Ryan?"

"Because you lied to me," he shouted, furiously running his hands through his now disheveled hair. "How did you really break your collar bone?"

Suddenly, the blonde woman's back went ramrod straight. She tilted her head up in defiance, facing him, meeting his questioning gaze with an unwavering one of her own. With clenched hands and tight lips, she responded, "after I fell, Tanner insisted that we move to an apartment without stairs. Our old apartment had them; this one doesn't."

Scoffing because he didn't quite believe her, Ryan inquired, "and he did this, he went through all that trouble, out of the goodness of his heart?"

"He loves me," Marissa countered, sapphire eyes emblazoned with a fire he had never seen in her before, "and, when you're Tanner Meriden, a simple real estate transaction is no trouble at all.

Instantly, he felt like an ass. Here he was, supposedly her friend, and, instead of trusting her, instead of supporting her, he was accusing her of lying to him. "I'm sorry," he apologized, sinking onto the first seat available to him, only realizing that it was coffee table after several moments of silence passed between them. "I guess I was just…," his voice trailed off as he thought about what he wanted to say, what he wanted to ask her. "Why did you tell him that I was your doctor?"

"Excuse me?"

The physician shrugged his shoulders in an embarrassed manner. "I thought I was your friend, Marissa, but then, at the party, you told Tanner that you were going home early because you were bored, that he should stay out without you and have fun, and that you had seen your doctor at the party and he was going to walk you home. Why didn't you tell him that I'm not just your doctor, that I'm your friend as well?"

He realized that he sounded insecure, but he really wanted to know her answer to his question. While she had mingled around the party, always on her rich, successful, respected playboy of a boyfriend's arm, he had noticed their somewhat stilted interaction. While no one else seemed to discern the almost obedient way she deferred to what her significant other wanted, said, or did, he was well aware of their odd chemistry, and it worried him. Beyond the fact that her refusal to refer to him as her friend had hurt his feelings, there was also an underlying flame of uncertainly inside of him that was perplexed by the relationship Marissa shared with the man she claimed to love.

They didn't behave as equals, as partners, and, when he allowed his mind to wander back to the moment he had first met her, bruised, battered, and practically broken, his past flared up to haunt him, making him scared that maybe he hadn't quite escaped from the cycle of abuse he thought he had left behind in Chino all those years before. But then, on the other hand, why would Marissa lie to him, why would she stay with a man who hurt her when it was obvious to him that she could easily take care of herself, why would she fight so hard for something, someone who, instead of fighting for her, simply fought her?

Even on his mother's worst days, she had never denied his father's abusive ways; she had just put up with them because financially she needed him and her drug habit craved him. But, as he sat there across the woman he was quickly growing to care for far more than a friend should, his thoughts, his doubts, his worries were refuted. She looked nothing like his mother. There was not a bruise in sight on her body, she didn't look desperate or afraid, and she even had a ghost of a smile curling her full lips. No, despite his concerns, there was no need for him to fear for her. It was simply his animosity towards her boyfriend for simply being able to be with her when he couldn't that clouding his judgment.

"Is that what was really bothering you," the blue eyed beauty questioned rhetorically, giggling slightly at his almost crazy reaction from before. "Ryan," she moved closer to him, scooting to the edge of the couch before picking up his left hand to hold in both of hers just as he had done to her right moments before. "Tanner and I both lead very busy, very hectic lives. On top of that, he travels quite a bit, so, unfortunately, we don't get to see each other that often. The honest truth is that I actually haven't had the chance to tell him about you yet, and, if I would have referred to you as my friend tonight at the art gallery, I would have been forced to make the required introductions, and, to be frank, I just wanted out of that stuffy, obnoxious place. I took the easy way out and called you my doctor, and I'm sorry if that offended you or hurt your feelings."

"And I'm sorry that I went a little bi-polar on you just then," he returned, flashing her a crooked, charming smile. "I promise, first thing tomorrow, I see about going back on my meds. I knew that I shouldn't have listened to those voices in my head that told me to stop taking them."

"Very funny," she rolled her eyes, stifling her amusement. "I take it that was your best attempt at doctor humor?"

"It was," Ryan feigned insult, clutching his chest in contrived mortification. "So I take it I should quit medicine in an attempt to become the next Jerry Seinfeld?"

"Stick to your day job."

Standing up, he glanced around the impeccably neat living room. "Jesus, Cooper, this place is almost sterile. What do you do around here for fun?"

Earnestly, she answered, "watch the news."

"Well, that isn't going to work," the physician stated knowingly. "You need to loosen up some," he advised, "and, as your doctor, my recommendations for your health should be taken extremely seriously."

"Alright then," Marissa agreed, laughing. "What do you suggest?"

"You, me, and Coney Island - tomorrow night." He watched as she mentally went over the idea. Although he was unsure of what she was contemplating, his wondering was cut short when she jerked her head quickly in an exaggerated nod of excited approval. "As for now, I guess we'll just have to settle for cartoons."

"Cartoons? I didn't even watch those when I was a kid," the blonde woman protested.

"It's a good thing that you met me then," he teased her, flopping down on the couch and picking up the remote. As he channel surfed, looking for an appropriate program, he noticed that, although there was a respectable amount of distance between them, an acceptable amount for two people of the opposite sex who were just friends, she also wasn't as guarded around him physically as she normally was, and the thought warmed him, slightly alleviating the chill he had been feeling ever since stepping into the apartment. Refocusing back onto the television, Ryan stated, "I think we should start with the classics, begin your cartoon education easily. How about Scooby-Do?"

Wrinkling her brow, she considered the name for a moment before replying, "I think that I've heard of that before, but I have no idea what the show is about."

"Cooper, Cooper, Cooper," the doctor laughed, throwing an arm across her shoulders to rustle her hair playfully… like a friend. "What am I going to do with you?" Turning up the volume, he removed his arm and settled down to the watch the show. "Get comfortable," he instructed her, "because it's going to be a long, monumental night.

Little did he know that he was unfortunately right.

The slamming of the penthouse door roused Marissa from a deep, dreamless sleep. She could tell by the pink tinge of color infiltrating the heavy drapery of their floor to ceiling windows in the living room that it was just before dawn, that she would soon have to get up to face the day, but her head felt clouded with cobwebs, and she granted herself just a moment to wake up before greeting her boyfriend. After several cleansing breaths and rubbing her eyes, she attempted to stand, but a heavy pressure on the lower portion of her legs kept her from moving. Instantly, she froze.

They had fallen asleep.

They had fallen asleep together… on the couch… in the living room she shared with Tanner.

They had fallen asleep together after spending the night in each other's company watching cartoons when she had never asked Tanner if it was alright for her to have a guest, a male guest, over.

Ryan was still there, his arms and upper body folded over and sleeping on her feet and ankles, and Tanner, as she panicked that very moment, was making his way towards them, unsuspecting of her betraying behavior.

And, just like that, any peace, any comfort she had found the night before from her friend disappeared, only to be replaced by the constant sense of fear that she always seemed to be living with.

Hastily, she wretched her legs away from Ryan, stood up, and almost fell over as she discovered that their sleeping positions had robbed her lower extremities of any feeling. But it was too late to focus on the pain, on the pins and needles shooting through her calves, because Tanner was before her, his head tilted to the side as he observed her closely. After several seconds, his frostbitten gaze swept past her, took in a quick overview of the still impeccably neat room, and then, finally, landed on an obliviously slumbering Ryan. Without a word, he commanded her into action, and she went to the doctor's side, pushing on his shoulder rather roughly to wake him.

In a whispered voice, she begged her new friend, "you have to get up. We fell asleep. Tanner," the beautiful blonde gulped, never taking her jumpy, panicked eyes away from her boyfriend. "He's home."

Eventually, Ryan stirred, stretching on the couch, twisting and contorting until he managed to wake himself up and saw Tanner in the room. His reaction – laughter – made Marissa cringe. "You must be Tanner," he stated with a lopsided grin, holding out his hand towards the dark haired man. As she watched her boyfriend take hold of the offered grasp, she held her breath for what would come next. "I'm Ryan Atwood. Sorry about crashing on your couch. Trust me, the knot in my back would prove to you that it was definitely an accident."

"I'm sorry. You seem to have me at an advantage," her significant other replied, narrowing his gaze. "Although I know nothing about you, you seem to know quite a bit about me… including my girlfriend. How do you know Marissa exactly?"

"I was the doctor who treated her for her broken collar bone a few weeks back," the physician answered amicably. "And don't worry," he joked, offering reassurance. "Everything she's said about you was good."

For the first time, Marissa found her voice in the odd conversation the two men in her life, her boyfriend and her friend, were having with each other. "Well, that's because there's only good things to say about Tanner."

"Please, sweetheart," the man in question balked, nodding his head in negation as he moved to stand by her side, wrapping a very possessive arm around her trim waist. "Everybody has flaws; everybody has secrets. Take for example Ryan here," he gestured towards the blonde man standing just a few feet away from them. "Before just a couple of minutes ago, he was one of your secrets."

"It was nothing like that," she defended quickly, wishing that Ryan would just leave. The longer he stayed, the more he said, the angrier Tanner became… though he hid it well from someone who didn't know him, from someone who couldn't feel the muscles in his arms ticking with fury and aggression. "We're still… getting to know each other," she attempted to explain, knowing that the clarification fell short but not knowing what else to say.

"Sort of like you're testing whether or not the friendship is going to go anywhere," her boyfriend suggested, coming off as being teasingly helpful to anyone's ears but Marissa's.

"Every relationship has a trial run period," Ryan offered, agreeing with the dark haired man. "I guess this is ours." Grabbing his things, he headed towards the door, waving behind him. "I have to be at the hospital in a couple hours, so I should really get home, get showered, and head out. If I miss my morning run, I'll miss my brother's daily phone call, and, trust me, that's never a good idea. I'll see you later, Marissa."

She didn't return his goodbye; instead, she braced herself for whatever reaction Tanner was going to have. No matter what, it wouldn't be positive or pleasant, and all she could hope for was that he either trusted her enough to believe what had happened with Ryan had been as innocent as they said it was or that he was too tired to concern himself with her actions. Unfortunately, she had little faith in either hope. As he removed his arm from around her body, he moved towards their bedroom, holding up a hand to signify that he didn't want her to follow.

"I have to pack," he said in an unfeeling, detached tone. "This trip is vital to our expansion into Asia, so I can't be distracted right now by your explanations or your excuses, but I'll be gone a week, and, while I'm gone, I want you to really think about what you've done, Marissa."

As he moved around the room they shared, she listened to his actions, seeing them as clear as day in her mind, so clear, in fact, that she could give a running play-by-play of exactly everything that he was doing, and the routine nature of her thoughts offered her enough distraction to stem off the dizzying sense of dread she felt creeping up through her stomach and into her chest to suffocate her. While Tanner might seem calm, rational, and in control, she knew that it was just the lull before the outburst.

With his voice loud enough to carry through the massive apartment, the acoustics designed just so for easy projection while the outside walls remained soundproof to block out any noise going to and coming from the penthouses next door, her boyfriend continued to scold her, lecturing her just like a child, just like the nothing the mirrors and his words told her she was. "I think you also need to start looking for a new doctor. Atwood seems too young, too inexperienced, and I've never heard of him before, so he can't be anything special. In fact, now that I think about it, perhaps you should change doctors regularly. I just read this article in _Newsweek_ that said switching doctors at least once a year is a good idea because, that way, you don't slip through the system or become forgotten, an afterthought."

She knew better than to argue, so she kept her doubts and her questions about his order thinly disguised as a caring suggestion to herself. Marissa knew that switching doctors frequently meant that no physician was capable of truly being familiar with your medical history, and she knew that Tanner did not read a single magazine unless it had at least a partially undressed woman on the cover. However, if it was what he wanted, if it would keep him happy, she would do as he asked. After all, after everything that he done for her, given to her and her family, she felt that it was the least that she could do for him.

Interrupting her thoughts, her boyfriend strode down the hallway, coming directly towards her. Partially undressed, he wore just his pants, though his belt was undone and hanging in the belt loops and the button at the top of his pants was unfastened. "Strip," he commanded.

Quickly, Marissa did as she was told. Despite the fact that it was the middle of the summer and that they were currently enjoying or suffering, depending upon a person's viewpoint, the effects of an unseasonably warm front for New York, the air in the penthouse, because it was early morning and the air conditioning was still on full blast, was crisp, making her skin break out in tiny, quivering goosebumps. Automatically, the rosy tips of her breasts puckered, and, due to habit, she reached up to fold her arms across her exposed, vulnerable form, but Tanner, undeterred, unforgiving Tanner, stretched out, seized hold of her left breast, and twisted the sensitive globe ruthlessly, instantly rendering the soft flesh bruised and aching.

"Turn around," he whispered, leaning in to almost tenderly brush his mouth against hers before biting her lips callously and making them bleed. "Turn around, walk towards the wall, and spread out your arms and legs against it, but don't ever take your eyes off mine. I want you to see yourself through me the way I see you."

Obediently, the battered blonde did as she was told, not even flinching when she heard the angry, whip-like snap of her boyfriend's belt as he pulled it free of his pants. As the first crack of the leather landed against her naked backside, its cruel, severe edges cutting into the exposed tissue of her lower back and bottom, Marissa had to bite her already swollen and wounded lips to keep from screaming out in pain. She had never been whipped before. When Tanner saw fit to punish her for the things she did wrong, he always hit her with his hands, pushed her around, or kicked her, and, for some reason unknown to her, the bite of the inanimate object hurt worse than any injury his body had ever put upon her in the past. But, still, silently, she withstood the pain, knowing it would only become worse if she begged for mercy or whimpered in anguished protest.

For every snap of the belt, he listed to her everything she had done wrong, his voice rising in elevation the entire time.

"This is for lying to me about your new friend."

Crack.

"This is for inviting him back to my home – the home I pay for and generously allow you to live in as well."

Crack.

"This is for falling asleep with him on my couch."

Crack.

"This is for letting him touch you."

Crack.

"This is for not having my suitcase packed for me when I got home."

Crack.

"And this is for not offering to pack it for me after I reminded you of my trip."

Crack.

At that point, Tanner's words stopped penetrating her mind, but the beating continued, and she collapsed onto the floor, curling her weakened, broken form into the fetal position. Over and over again the belt rained down on her back, the criss-cross of the marks bleeding and scabbing and burning until a numbness overtook her body and she lost consciousness, leaving her to fade away into a sea of blinding red where nothing existed except the sheer will of her survival.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

What the hell was it about him that attracted the Chatty Cathie's? He left a home of near silence when he moved from Newport only to be taken into the Cohen household where no one was quiet and where everyone seemingly voiced their opinions loudly and at attention. The worst was Seth. It was his personal and professional opinion as a doctor that his brother physically could not stop talking. Hell, he even mumbled incoherently in his sleep.

Then he moved to New York for medical school, got a job in the city, and thought, for once, he would escape the incessant chatter he had lived with for years. Wrong. His professors and fellow students, while in school, always wanted to talk to him, and, once he graduated, his coworkers and patients were always talking his ear off, confiding in him, sharing what they believed to be amusing anecdotes, and, of course, offering him advice. Motor-mouths were everywhere.

The guy he bought his morning coffee from – a sports fan whose wife hated all things that ended in the word ball, so the guy was forced to discuss his various teams and favorite players with his customers. His doorman had marriage issues, and, for some reason beyond Ryan's knowledge, the older man thought he was a psychologist and not a physician, so, not only did he know about _Henry and Kimberly's _lack of sex life, but he also heard of their fights – word for word. And then there was his dentist. The woman literally could not shut up. With his mouth propped open as she drilled away on his teeth, the last thing the doctor wanted was to attempt to carry on a conversation about the woman's kids or about her latest vacation to go mountain climbing, but did she ever pick up on his lack of interest in making small talk? Of course not.

It seemed as if everywhere he went, there was constant, human created noise pollution. Sometimes, he found himself wondering what it was like to be deaf. In comparison to the constant chatter he faced, Ryan was starting to seriously contemplate blowing out his own eardrums. After all, he was a professional medical expert, and, as sick and twisted as it was, he knew what he was doing. But, then again, if he was deaf, then he couldn't listen to Marissa when she talked to him, and that was the one sound – her voice – that he was unwilling to part with. In fact, she was the one person who enjoyed talking to him that he enjoyed listening to, that he enjoyed returning dialogue with.

However, that did not mean that he didn't crave silence some of the time. One would think that quiet and art gallery openings would go hand in hand, but, even at an event where he knew no one and liked even less of the attendants, the blonde still couldn't find any peace and solitude. Instead, he had been cornered by another Chatty Cathie, forced to endure and partake in unnecessary conversation. And, like a bad, broken record, he was going through the same experience again.

This time it was Marissa's landlord/building supervisor. Promptly, just as they had planned, he had arrived at his new friend's penthouse apartment at seven o'clock, but, after several minutes of continuous knocking and a few loud calls of greeting, no one had answered the door. Not only was he worried, but the other tenants were annoyed with him. Several, in fact, had opened their front doors and requested that he either leave or they would call the cops and report him for trespassing. Too bad for them, he didn't scare easily, and, disregarding their warnings, he went to find someone who could help him. What he found was a 72 year old widow and grandfather who suffered from rheumatoid arthritis and diarrhea of the mouth.

Just his freaking luck.

It had been right in the middle of his favorite game show, _Wheel of Fortune – _he just loved that _dish, _Vanna Whiteand, knowing that the lottery numbers would be up soon, the elderly man hadn't wanted to go and check on his neighbor until after the numbers were announced. So, he had invited Ryan into his apartment, offered him a congenial glass of iced tea, and proceeded to talk his ear off for more than twenty minutes. In that seemingly short time frame that really felt like a lifetime, he heard about the lonely man's late wife's collection of glass birds, all still very proudly displayed around the living room, how the older gentleman had recently taken up knitting, a decidedly female hobby but one that served as good exercise for the joints in his hands and kept his knuckles from getting too stiff, and how his oldest granddaughter was expecting her first child that fall, a girl who was going to be named after his beloved _Nessa_.

If he was honest with himself, Ryan had to admit that the building manager was really a pretty nice guy, but, in that particular moment, he didn't have the time or the patience to listen to his stories. He was worried about a woman he cared a great deal for, and, the longer he sat watching some aging pop culture icon turning lighted up letters on the television screen, the longer Marissa could be in danger or needing assistance. Finally, though, the show was over, the lottery numbers had been announced, and they were on their way – their very slow way – up to the penthouse.

"I must say, Mr. Meriden, that you're nothing like I expected you to be."

Losing a step, it took a moment for the young doctor to recover his composer, but he hid his surprise towards the graying man's comment well. Apparently, the landlord believed he was Marissa's boyfriend, and that was probably the only reason why he was helping him into the apartment. If it would get him his desired result and maybe reveal some more information about the man he was quickly starting to consider his competition, then he would gladly play along.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, I might not pay much attention to all the local gossip that goes around this building, but even I know that you're some big shot rich guy – the complete opposite of the type of man I pictured your girl dating."

Feigning astonishment, he pressed, "is that so?"

"Oh, yeah," the elderly gentleman stated emphatically, warming up and brightening at the idea that he had finally touched upon a subject of interest. "From what I've heard, you two seem like total opposites. Take this for example," he continued. "While you've lived in this building for years, I've never once even seen you before. I get your rent check in the mail every month like clock work, sent to me by your accountant, but you're never in the lobby getting your mail, you don't socialize with your neighbors, and you've never once attended a building meeting, but, Marissa on the other hand, she's a homebody. I see her around here all the time."

"Well, you know what they say – opposites attract."

"They do say that," the building supervisor – Bernie – agreed, "but physical attraction only goes so far. A guy and a girl have to have some things in common in order to really understand each other, and, without mutual appreciation, a relationship will never last."

Going with the only common denominator he knew of that existed between Marissa and Tanner, Ryan shared, "we both enjoy the arts."

"Pshw, all young kids your age say that, but few really mean it, and don't think that I don't know your girl. We're friends, Miss Marissa and I. She comes up and sees me at least once a week, more if she can, and we discuss current events. While I help her with historical tie-ins, she makes sense of all the confounded gibberish those damned journalist use nowadays. We drink hot chocolate, and I make her dinner and watch her like a hawk to make sure she eats every single bite of food on her plate. That woman of yours, Meriden, she's far too skinny. You should make her eat… and eat a lot."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Women today," the older man continued as if he had said nothing, "think that they need to be as skinny as a beanpole, and it's young, foolish studs like you who put that daft idea in their minds. Why, if my Rosy was still alive, she'd fatten that girl up within a week, mark my words, but I'm just not the cook my late wife was."

Ryan's mind was spinning by that point. With just one more level of stairs to manage, they were close to Marissa's floor, but, because the landlord was winded easily, they had to stop periodically to take short breaks in their trek. There were so many things, though, for his mind to ponder while Bernie rested. Apparently, not only was Tanner an absentee boyfriend, but Marissa had also lied to him about recently moving to her apartment. If she had lied about that, then what else was she lying about, and how had she broken her collar bone?

In the back of his mind, he knew the answer to at least the latter question, but he just didn't want to face it. It had been hard enough to live through watching someone he cared about being abused the first time, but to go through that horror and that pain a second time… Well, the only good thing he could think of was at least, with Marissa, he wouldn't be as helpless as he was with his mother. He was an adult now. He had a voice other adults, people in authority positions, would listen to, and, if nothing else, he wasn't the shy, scrawny child anymore who couldn't fight back. If push came to shove, he could confront Tanner himself and make sure that the other man never hurt Marissa again… or at least he could try. There would be nothing he could do if she continued to go back to the man who abused her just like his mother had continued to go back to his father all those years ago.

Breaking him out of his own personal, hellish thoughts, Bernie's voice penetrated through the fog of doubt and worry encasing Ryan. "If nothing else, if that girl had a little more meat on her bones, she might not get hurt as often. A broken collar bone, bruised ribs, a sprained wrist, I've never seen a grown woman injured so much." As they reached the penthouse's door, the elderly gentleman stopped, turned to face the physician, and looked him in the eye.

"The reason you're nothing like I thought Mr. Meriden would be, young man, is because you're not Tanner Meriden. And don't start protesting on me now," the building manager warned him, "because I knew you weren't that asshole the entire time. While I might not have met Tanner Meriden personally before, I know exactly what kind of man he is. Now, I don't know who you are, and, frankly, at this point, I don't care. If you can get that young woman in there some help," he jerked his thumb towards the apartment, "then you'll become my new best friend. I've tried talking to her in the past, indirectly, of course, but she doesn't listen, and she certainly doesn't confirm my suspicions about the piece of scum she lives with, but it does no good. For some reason, she's got it in her pretty little head that she owes the son of a bitch, but nothing's worth her life, and I firmly believe that if she stays with the bastard, he'll one day kill her."

Ryan was speechless. He had no idea what to say… or do for that matter. While he had been mentally preparing himself the whole way up to the penthouse for the reality he might have to face when the apartment door was finally opened, nothing could have prepared him for the physical blow Bernie's words caused him. Over and over again, the older man's fear kept repeating itself in his mind – _kill her, kill her, kill her_, and all he wanted to do was both get inside to the woman he cared about and run as far away from the situation that was awaiting him inside the apartment as he could.

"Just get her help," the landlord reiterated, pressing his set of keys to the penthouse into Ryan's slightly shaking hands. "Get her help, and this little _favor _will forever stay between you and me. No one needs to know that I let you in, and, if you ever need my assistance again, you know where to find me."

And, with that, the graying man pivoted around on his slipper clad feet and moved back towards the stairs. While he could have taken the elevator, he proclaimed an inherent distrust for the metal death traps, and, before the medical professional knew what he was doing, Bernie was gone, and he had the door to the apartment open and was walking inside. The spacious living quarters were dark; the only light managing to find its way into the cold space streamed in through the pulled shut drapes, casting constantly shifting and eerie shadows across the wide expanse of metal, stone, and wood. Quickly, Ryan's eyes adjusted to the dim illumination. Just when he was about to give up and move towards the bedrooms, his gaze landed upon a crumbled, bloodied, unconscious Marissa, and, in that moment, the ground slipped out from beneath his feet.

Everything had changed.

Finally, after three days, he felt as if he could breathe again.

At first, he had been paralyzed, and, just like it was yesterday, he was that scared little boy hiding underneath his bed in his room while his father beat his mother sometimes within an inch of her life. Once he had left Chino and his biological family behind, Ryan thought he had escaped the horrors of abuse, but he had been wrong, and, in that very first moment when he saw a battered and severely beaten Marissa crumpled up in a vulnerable ball on her living room floor, he was right back to feeling helpless and out of control. But then she had whimpered, stunning him out his stupor.

Upon his first glance, he had believed her to be unconscious, but, after hearing her weakly, blindly call out for help, he was scrambling to her, picking her up, and taking care of her without a second thought. Luckily, because of his medical training, he was able to push his emotions aside and deal with her injuries professionally and in a detached manner. It took Marissa several minutes to realize who was with her. By the tensing of her already weak form, he knew that she feared his touch to be that of Tanner's initially, and the knowledge of her fear, despite the fact that it was misplaced, sent a piercing arrow of pain straight to his heart. He never wanted her to be afraid of him; he never wanted any woman to ever be afraid of him, but she was a product of her environment, and life with her boyfriend had taught her to shy away, even subconsciously, from any man's touch.

But he was patient, and he was gentle, and, eventually, his soothing words of comfort and the fact that his hands were not touching her to inflict more pain but to take the pain she already felt away calmed her enough to the point where she relaxed and let him treat her uninterrupted. That's when the tears came. She didn't cry out; she didn't even whimper. Instead, silent, steady tracks of saline emotion flowed down her pale, almost translucent cheeks. With every tear, a new memory, a new nightmare for Ryan formed, and, with every tear, his anger grew, anger so intense, so severe, he was afraid of himself and for himself, and it only seemed to compound, because there was absolutely no release for what he was feeling.

Marissa was already too traumatized, and he couldn't be selfish and lose control of his temper simply to curb the rage inside of him. He wanted - no he needed to be her safe place, the only person she could trust in a world otherwise filled with traps and reminders of the pain she had been unjustly, criminally put through, and he couldn't be that person for her if his control was snapping and he was lashing out at Tanner by destroying furniture or yelling. So, he buried his emotions, trapped them so deep inside of his heart they would have to stay hidden until he purposely allowed them free, and, someday, he had promised himself that evening as he sat beside a freshly bandaged yet fretfully sleeping Marissa, he would get the opportunity to erupt, to return the favor and destroy the man who had so dismissively, so inhumanly attempted to destroy the woman he cared deeply for despite not having a right to.

As Ryan continued to climb the stairs that late afternoon, slowly making his way towards the penthouse, he pressed forth in his memories of the past three days. Despite there being an elevator, he, too, had taken the stairwells instead, choosing to walk up flight after flight of risers because it afforded him a chance to think with uninterrupted quiet for at least a few minutes everyday, and, with so many chaotic thoughts flying through his mind, he needed the peace to make sense of what he was both feeling and contemplating. The one thing he was sure of was that he really didn't know what he was doing. Despite having experience with abuse in his past, observing it as a child did not prepare him for helping another person confront, accept, and start to deal with what had happened to them, what had been done to them. Marissa was lost, and he was right there beside her, fumbling with the upside down, crinkled, and stained map.

She had refused the idea of going to the hospital, outright cried and begged for him to not make her go and to take care of her himself. Almost immediately, he had agreed. After everything she had been through, he knew that she needed to feel comfortable in whatever place it was that she recovered, so he didn't press the issue. When he had suggested she go and stay at his apartment with him for a week, she had adamantly turned that idea down, too, claiming that she wasn't ready to go outside, to see people other than him yet, and, again, he had relented.

It was weird though – spending all his free time and sleeping in the very place where the beautiful blonde had been beaten, in the same place that she lived and shared with her boyfriend, the man who had hurt her so badly. He felt awkward in the penthouse, like his skin no longer fit over his body, but he tried to hide his uneasiness, knowing that whatever he was feeling was nothing compared to the anxiety Marissa lived with day in and day out. As a doctor, he knew how to physically care for her injuries, and, as for the rest, he tried to figure it out as they went along, making the best decisions he could and simply trying to be her friend.

It seemed to work. After the first evening, she had started to sleep through the night, something the physician was thankful for because she needed the rest just as much as she needed the salve he was putting on her cuts and the antibiotics she was taking to stem off infection. Her time off from work, which he provided her with by calling her in sick as her doctor, seemed to help. Every afternoon when he returned back from the hospital, he would find her sprawled out on her stomach, reclined on the couch, watching and sometimes even laughing at the cartoons she seemed to watch constantly. It didn't seem to matter what cartoon was on, she would watch it, and the thought of her being reassured by something he introduced to her made him smile and feel a gentle warmth suffused throughout his body, because it meant that he and thoughts of him reassured her as well.

Then there was Bernie. Every afternoon, he came up to the penthouse to have lunch with Marissa. Once they had ordered in, but, on the other two afternoons, the aging landlord had cooked for them, making comfort foods, dishes his beloved Rosy had made for their three children when they had been sick or sad. It seemed to help as well. The soups and macaroni and cheese perked up Marissa's appetite, and she started eating better again. Bernie had never been prouder… or more smug.

At night, the two of them usually ate cereal – Lucky Charms, Coco Puffs, Cap'n Crunch, and Cookie Crisp seemed to be their favorites, and, though, as a health professional, Ryan knew there were definitely healthier meals for them to be eating, neither he nor Marissa could cook, and, if something had the power to put a smile on the young woman's face, then he would do it, and bowl after bowl of sweet, sugary cereal seemed to do the trick.

So, here he was on the third night after he had found her, standing outside her apartment door with a box of Fruit Loops to add to their assortment of breakfast foods for dinner. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pushed the door open and easily walked into the penthouse, attempting and hoping he succeeded in looking casual and confident. With only a few days left to convince Marissa that she needed to leave her boyfriend and be gone before he got back from his business trip, he knew he needed to step up his efforts in persuading her, but he was also apprehensive of pushing her too much too quickly.

So, with that in mind, he was going to start out by simply opening up to her. After they finished dinner and cleaned up the kitchen, he would hide the remote from her and insist that they talk, sitting her down and telling her about his own history with abuse, hoping that his forthright honesty about the pain and suffering his mother had gone through would somehow put the seed of thought in her mind and make her start to consider leaving Tanner and the life she shared with him behind. From there, he wasn't sure what would come next, but he would figure it out as he went. After all, he had to. Not only was Marissa's survival dependent upon her getting away from the abuse but his sanity was as well.

He should have known better though. He should have known that it wouldn't be as simple as he had hoped, as he had planned, because nothing in life was ever that easy.

Walking into the kitchen, he found Marissa curled up in a ball on the floor, her eyes wide with panic and trepidation, her body quaking in terror, and her bottom lip bloody from her teeth sinking into it repeatedly out of dread. There was an acrid aroma of smoke clogging the room, and, when he glanced at the sink and counter top surrounding it, he found a mess of dirty dishes, spilled food, and burnt dinner. As soon as she saw him, the blue eyed woman immediately began to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Ryan. I didn't mean it. I'm sorry." Her voice was cracked and dangerously high pitched as if her nerves and state of mind were both on the brink of teetering over into absolute, complete and total distress. "I was trying to cook you dinner, to thank you for everything that you've done for me – for being my friend, for taking care of me, but I don't know what happened. One minute the food was alright, and I went to set the table, and the next thing I knew the smoke alarms were going off, and it was ruined. I ruined it… like I ruin everything. I can't get anything right, Ryan, and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." At that point, she stood up. While still cowering away from him, she advanced in his direction, her arms outstretched in a beseeching manner. "I'd do anything to make up for it, to show you just how remorseful I am. Please Ryan," she begged, dropping to her knees and, with shaking hands, reaching out for the button of his jeans, startling him and making him take a step back only to watch her crawl towards him. "I'll do anything you want just don't be mad at me. Please. I'm so sorry. It won't happen again, I promise."

Just as she was about to unzip his pants, he came to his senses, shook off his shocked trance, and took her hands in his, pulling her up to stand before him. Delicately, he reached out and cupped her face in the palms of his hands, bringing them closer together until their foreheads touched. "I'm not mad at you, Marissa. If I tried to make you dinner, the same thing probably would have happened, and the thought that you tried to do this for me is more than enough thanks. I wouldn't trade all these dirty and burnt dishes for a five star meal at the most exclusive restaurant in the city. But I'm also not going to lie to you," he warned her, making sure her gaze was locked on his before he continued. "I do want you, but I want you to want me, too, and not or us to be together because you feel bad about ruining dinner." Swallowing thickly, he confessed. "Don't you get it? Don't you realize that I'm falling for you?"

Even though she didn't say anything in return, the softening of her face and relaxing of her body was enough for Ryan. He knew that she wasn't ready to make a similar declaration to him, and just the knowledge that his admission was capable of making her feel at peace made him smile on the inside. Releasing her face and taking her left hand in his right, he led her towards the spare bedroom where she had been sleeping so far that week. Wordlessly, he helped her lie down, the baggy t-shirt of his and boxer shorts she had been wearing so that her clothes didn't irritate her back were already appropriate for sleeping in, but, when he went to pull away, she reached out and grasped his forearm, silently asking yet, at the same time, screaming through her actions for him to remain with her. So, he did. Climbing into bed beside her, a sigh of pure relief and bliss escaped his lips when she instantly launched herself into his embrace, curling her much smaller form around his own muscular one. It didn't take long for her breathing to even out and become deep and steady with slumber, and, once he knew she was out for the night, Ryan allowed himself to fall asleep as well. For the first time since he found her days before, he felt the ground beneath his feet once again and had hope – hope for himself, hope for Marissa, and, most of all, hope for them together as perhaps more than just friends.

Seth Ezekiel Cohen was curious – not the tap your foot and bide your time curious but the pull out all your hair, stop eating (which in itself, for him, said _so much_), and seriously make your parents wonder if you need to be put on psychiatric meds curious.

It had been four and half days since he had last shared a conversation with his brother. More than one hundred hours of silence stretched between them, and, as he smacked his forehead against the kitchen counter repetitively, he realized it was the longest amount of time the two men had gone without communication with each other. Even when Ryan had been in medical school, bogged down with test after test, practicum after practicum, and more assigned lab time than even Frankenstein had seen, the blonde haired physician had still found opportunities to call home and check in. Mysteriously though, after their last conversation, his brother had seemingly dropped off the radar. His phone was always turned off, he didn't check his email, and even the hospital was under strict instructions not to disturb him at work unless it was an emergency. Although Seth personally felt as if his current case of Ryan withdrawal counted as a medical crisis, he knew his only sibling would pitch a hissy-fit if he had him paged simply to curb his boredom and nosiness.

So, he waited, albeit impatiently, barely sleeping, refusing all forms of sustenance except MonaVie, and ignoring his parents' pleas for him to do something besides sit nearby all his various forms of communication. Perched almost expectantly at the kitchen counter, he sat in a stool that had been really uncomfortable until the point where his ass had gone numb, surrounded with his cell phone, the cordless home phone, his laptop, and even a pager that he had sent his mom out to buy after the first 24 hours of no Seth-Ryan time. Despite the fact that his brother did not have the beeper's number, he was prepared and had already sent out mass text messages and emails alerting everyone within his circle of contact about the latest change in his technological existence.

After the first day, he had become annoyed. They had a deal – he would call, and Ryan would answer, at least pretending to pay attention to whatever his curly haired brother had to say. It was the only thing preventing Seth from packing up and moving to New York City to be with his best friend (well that and the fact that his parents still supported him), and, by Ryan breaking that agreement, he was opening himself up to the chance of gaining a new, freeloading roommate. After the second day, he had become worried, asking both his parents if hey had heard from their independent son. The answer had been no, and he had returned to his vigilance at the kitchen counter. The third day brought him suspicion and a text message, slightly alleviating his concern until he read the short missive, and then the doubt and insecurities came flooding back to him but for a whole different reason.

His brother's text had simply revealed: _Something came up. Call u ASAP_.

That was it.

Nothing more, nothing less. Never before had his only sibling's penchant for the understated bothered Seth so much. Immediately, his mind… and imagination had raced, flinging from an alien attack to a zebra escape from the Central Park Zoo. He wondered if his brother was in some kind of danger, or if he was merely indisposed at the present moment. Indisposed could mean several things in and of itself, though, some pleasant, such as secluded away in a love nest with a certain leggy blonde Seth knew Ryan was after even if only subconsciously – and, yes, he had Google'd her, too, or it could have meant that he was recovering from a nasty case of pink eye, and his baby blues were so swollen shut and in so much pain, he couldn't even open them to dial up his favorite fellow man.

By the dawn of the fourth day, he had started bellowing for someone to bring him his wallet, post haste, but his parents had long since learned to ignore his ranting, leaving him alone with his various forms of communication but no credit card to purchase a flight out to New York. Perhaps if he had been able to feel his legs at that point, he would have gotten up on his own, but the fact was that he couldn't, and, since he was probably slightly dehydrated and didn't need to go to the bathroom, he wasn't going to risk a trip out of the room if it wasn't an emergency bathroom break from his vigilance.

But that had been over twelve hours ago, and he suddenly did need to go to the bathroom but feared he wouldn't make it and would end up urinating all over himself. Although it wouldn't be the first time, no one else knew about his penchant for pushing the limits when it came to bodily functions, and he sincerely meant to keep it that way. So, he crossed his legs, squeezed them together, and continued to hit his head against the marble countertop, hard enough to keep him awake and focused on anything besides the fact that he had to pee like a race horse but soft enough that it wouldn't cause permanent damage… or so he thought.

Abruptly, his cell phone vibrated, and all other thoughts besides talking to his brother vanished. The call didn't even progress until the end of the first ring, and he already had it open, demanding, "where the hell have you been? Do you know how worried I was?"

"Calm down, yenta. I told you in my text that something came up."

"And could you have been any more ambiguous," Seth railed against his sibling. "You have no idea what kind of thoughts have been running through my mind for the past few days."

"And I imagine that I never want to know," the blonde returned cheekily, laughing slightly at his best friend's expense.

But the younger of the two men continued as if nothing had been said. "My brain was jumping from something as simple as a few extra shifts at the hospital to the possibility that you were arrested for public indecency and was spending your nights curled up along side your new girlfriend Bubba."

"Well, at this point, I haven't seen the inside of a jail cell, but it could be a definite possibility in the near distant future."

"What? Why?"

"I'll tell you if you can promise me you'll stay quiet until I finish the story," Ryan bargained. "So that means no interrupting me every other word to put in your quick quips – no sound effects, no loud breathing, and no pretending that you have another call just so that you can get a word in edgewise? Do we have a deal?"

"Your wish is my command. I am your genie in a bottle, baby, and you just rubbed me the right way."

Seth snickered as he listened to his brother bemoan his previous statement. "That has to be the most disgusting thing you've ever said to me."

"That's what happens when you leave me alone for four days, thirteen hours, forty-seven minutes, and a few odd seconds."

"You are sick, you are twisted, and I have never been more thankful of the fast that we are not blood related."

"That's because you secretly lust after me, and, if we were blood related, then that would be incest," the brunette returned, seemingly on a roll in his book.

"Seth!"

"Alright, alright, I'll behave," he agreed, albeit slightly reluctantly. "Now, what was so important that you abandoned me for the greater portion of an entire week?"

"Marissa and I had made plans to go to Coney Island together a few nights ago, but, when I got to her apartment, she didn't answer the door. I was worried, and her building's manager kindly let me in. When I found her, she was almost unconscious she had been beaten so badly."

"Oh my god," the younger man gasped, clearly shocked by his sibling's emotional admission. "Was it a robbery?"

"What happened to our agreement of you staying quiet while I finished my story?"

"Come on, Ryan? Did you actually expect me to follow through on that, especially when I was by no means prepared for this type of _something_?" Silent for several moments, the twenty-eight year old contemplated the blonde's confession. "I know you didn't say anything," he finally spoke again, "but I can tell simply by your refusal to deny or confirm my question that it wasn't a robbery. Who hurt her?"

"Tanner."

The one answer was said so bitterly, so furiously, that Seth knew immediately why his brother had warned him that he might be in jail in the near distant future. Despite already knowing the answer though, his brain wasn't cooperating, and he couldn't quite accept the truth. If he was feeling in denial, he couldn't imagine what his older sibling was going through. "Her boyfriend?"

"He beat her, repetitively, with a belt. When I found her, her back was a mess. There was blood and puss. The infection had already started to set in. For a minute," Ryan admitted, "I wasn't sure what to do. It was like I froze. All my medical training flew out the window, because, instead of the person in front of me being some nameless patient, it was now someone that I cared about."

"Someone," the curly haired brunette clarified, "that you're falling for." Whistling harshly at the situation, he asked, "so, what did the police say? Are they going to arrest him?"

"I haven't called the police?"

"Are you out of your mind," the younger man exploded, only curtailing the volume of his voice after his initial explosion. He knew that, for the moment, Ryan wasn't ready to talk to their parents, and, despite his selfish ways, he knew when to put aside his own agendas and needs to focus on the brother who had always been there for him when he needed him. "You can't go around exacting vigilante justice here. Dude, I know you haven't unleashed those fists of fury of yours in quite a while, but this is not the time to do so and certainly not the answer. Marissa needs you to be thinking with your brain right now and not your brawn. Call the police, report this ass, and get her the help she needs by making sure that she's safe."

"If anyone is going to file a complaint against Tanner, it has to be Marissa," the doctor argued. "If I do it, it's just going to be my word against his, and who knows if she would even speak out against the abuse. No, for now, I'm just going to take of her and try to convince her to leave him. She has to be the one to break the cycle of abuse, Seth. If she doesn't, she'll probably just go back to him. No one can make this decision except for Marissa, not even me, no matter how much I want to. There's only one person who can get her away from Tanner, and that's Marissa herself."

"Are you sure about this, man? I mean, what are you going to do if she doesn't leave him, if she stays and he hurts her again?"

"That's what my previous warning was about. Listen, Seth," the older sibling quickly changed the subject. "I can hear her getting out of the bathtub. I need to go, but I promise I'll call you as soon as I can. For now, though, can you promise me that you'll keep this between just the two of us?"

"Yeah, of course," he found himself agreeing, despite his best judgment. "Whatever you want, but only if you agree to really think about telling Dad about this. He knows a few things, and I'm not just talking about how to sing a show tune or how to grow the world's largest set of eyebrows. He could probably really help you."

"I'll keep it in mind, and," Ryan paused for a moment, his voice hitching with an involuntary display of emotion, "thanks, Seth, for everything." Sobering quickly, he teased, "now, go to the bathroom, take a shower, get something to eat, and sleep for at least eight hours – doctor's orders."

And, with that, he hung up, leaving Seth, for one of the first times in his life, speechless. He would follow his brother's instructions, if simply because he knew his body needed him to, but he highly doubted he would be able to sleep, at least not anytime soon. He was glad that Ryan had called, that he had trusted him enough to confide in him, but that did not mean that he liked anything he had heard during their conversation. Now that he had finally managed to speak with his brother, his worry and concern were justified. It was an unusual sensation for him since he was so used to being carefree and untroubled, and, not for the first time that hour, he found himself wondering just how his older sibling was going to make it through the situation he found himself in unscathed. Restlessly, he feared such a thing was impossible.

Ryan was leaving. He was going to work, and, after he got off, instead of coming back to her apartment, he was going home to his own, giving her the night to think about what she wanted, what she needed to do for herself. Tanner was due back from his business trip the next morning, and, before he arrived, she had to decide if she was going to stay with him, if she was going to leave him, and if she was going to report his actions to the police. Though her back, thanks to Ryan's gentle and constant care, was healing nicely, it was obvious that she had been severely beaten, and, confidently, perhaps even foolishly, Tanner had left the belt he had used to whip her with proudly on display, laying discarded on their bedroom floor, so she could easily take it to the authorities as evidence. But, first, she had to make a decision – did she leave, was she strong enough, capable enough, selfish enough to leave the man who provided both for her and her family, or did she stay and, essentially, lose Ryan, the only true friend she had made in years?

"Hey," he shattered the glass walls of thought she was building around herself with one simple word. "Don't," he pleaded with her. "Don't do that; don't start to doubt yourself or me."

"How did you…"

"You're pretty easy to read, Cooper," he teased her, cupping her chin while staring deeply into her very emotional sapphire orbs. "Well, you are if the person knows what to look for."

Grinning at him softly, she stated, "like you do."

He shrugged self-effacingly, replying, "I try. But that's not important right now. What is important is that you know that, no matter what, I'm here for you. Whatever you decide, Marissa, I'm still going to be your friend. Will I be disappointed if you stay? I'm not going to lie to you. Yes, I would be, but I wouldn't be disappointed for me; I'd be disappointed for you. I know that you think you need Tanner, but you don't. The only person you need is yourself."

"You're wrong," she argued, her voice dropping to a low, intimate degree. "I need you."

"But that's where you're wrong," Ryan disagreed. "Sure, I help you. When you're hurt, I take care of you, but you don't need me to make you better. You have the means to do that yourself. All you have to do is find the resolve to walk away."

"It's not that simple."

"Oh, I know that," he agreed, sympathizing with her. Pulling the almost in tears blonde into his arms, the physician soothed. "Remember what I told you about my Mom? I've been here before, Marissa; I've seen this before. It was so hard for her to leave, that she never did, but I think that you're stronger than my biological mother. I believe that you can do this. All you have to do is believe in yourself as well."

"I'll try," she promised him.

Smiling at her softly, he pulled out of their embrace and stated, "that's all I can ask of you." Surprising both of them, he leaned across the space separating them and let his lips whisper over hers, their mouths barely touching before he disentangled himself from her arms, turned around, and left the penthouse without another word, leaving the stunned young woman in a state of shocked excitement. Their small, almost innocent kiss was the first trace of genuine romantic affection she had felt in years, and it was just the thing to help spur her mind into action.

Quickly making a decision, Marissa scrambled to the bedroom she shared with Tanner. Although it had only been six days since she had last used the room, it already felt like someone else's, and the unfamiliarity with the place she had been the most private with her soon-to-be ex only confirmed her decision to leave. While she wasn't going to report his abuse to the authorities, she was at least prepared to move out. She had a work friend who lived close to the office, and she knew the other woman would welcome her for at least long enough for the blonde to find a place of her own to stay. Everything else – her mother, her sister, what was happening between her and Ryan – she would figure out later. In that moment, the most important thing was simply to leave, to pack her bags and escape before Tanner returned home, for, once he was back, she knew she would never have the courage to stand up for herself against him. So, with the first spark of life to her since she had been whipped, Marissa located her suitcase and started throwing her possessions in as quickly as possible, determined to be out of the penthouse apartment she had lived in and to her friend's doorstep before the other woman even left for the office that morning.

"What are you doing?"

She jumped at the voice from behind her, dropping the clothes in her hands as if they burned her fragile fingers. Immediately, she felt her shoulders slump, her confidence fleeing just as quickly as she had found it. Turning around, her worst fears were confirmed, and, standing before her, Tanner waited patiently for an answer. Instead, she responded, "you're back early."

"I wanted to surprise you," he admitted, smiling. Striding further into the room, he went straight towards his still cast aside belt, picking it up and beguiling the young blonde when he threw it away. Pivoting back around to face her, his amusement only swelled. "I see that I succeeded. Where are you going, Marissa?"

She was too terrified to answer.

"Is there something wrong with your mother or Caitlyn? I can't imagine so, seeing as how I just spoke to Julie a few hours ago, and she seemed fine."

Confused, her brow furrowed. "You spoke with my Mom? About what?"

"I needed her permission, sweetheart," Tanner replied smoothly, advancing towards her. "But you still haven't answered my question. Why are you packing? Where are you going?"

Swallowing suddenly became difficult. "I'm leaving."

"On vacation, for work?"

"No," Marissa clarified, unable to reach her boyfriend's steady, probing gaze. "I'm leaving you." By the time the last word left her lips, she was barely capable of speaking, her voice so low only she could hear it.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that. You see," the dark haired man pressed, "when I was away on business, I realized a few things, the most important one being that I need you. My bosses, Marissa, they love you. They think that we're this perfect couple, and you know how I hate to disappoint my bosses. And my clients," he continued, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small, black velvet jewelry box, "especially the foreign ones, they seem to prefer to do business with a married man, a family man. In fact, many of them wondered why my very beautiful girlfriend wasn't with me on this last trip. So, you see," he pointed out to her, "I need you, and I think we've always known that you need me." Opening the ring box, he presented her with a stunning diamond solitaire engagement ring – a ring that would be worth enough money to take care of her mother and sister for years to come. "That's why you're going to marry me, and, in exchange, as soon as we're husband and wife, you'll debut as the new op-ed journalist on the weekend morning cable news program the company owns and produces."

Quickly, her mind raced over the possibilities, over the pros and cons of Tanner's deal. If she was on camera, it would be even more important that her appearance be maintained, and it wasn't as if he normally beat her with his belt. That had been a one time occurrence, and it had been her own fault for lying to him anyway, for pushing him past his limit. She had known better than to invite Ryan back to the penthouse with her, but she had done it regardless, so, really, she was the one to blame for her boyfriend whipping her. She could deal with his temper, with his yelling and screaming, with his demanding ways about her appearance and the apartment's.

And what did it really matter that Ryan had made her feel more with one tiny kiss than Tanner had managed over years of various sexual exploits? Business came before pleasure, and, if she was finally about to get a promotion, a chance to be in front of the camera and not just behind it as someone else's assistant, then she had no choice but to agree to Tanner's deal. Besides, marrying him would be the best for her family. Ryan would understand; he had promised her that he would. He would continue to be her friend in private, and he would be happy for her because she was getting what she always wanted. With those thoughts in mind, she accepted the proposal.

"I'll marry you."

Just as the words escaped her lips, her cell phone, laying haphazardly on the bed, started ringing. Both her gaze and Tanner's swung to the small, plastic device, seeing Ryan's name flash on the screen. He didn't say a word, and she ignored the call. After all, she was now an engaged woman, a woman who was soon to be married to the man who would be able to take care of her, her mother, and her sister for the rest of their lives.

Ryan would understand; he had promised her that he would.

At least, she hoped so.


	5. Chapter 5

**Will to Leave**

**Chapter Five**

He stood as she approached, moving towards a bolted down garbage can to throw away the late afternoon snack he had purchased for them half an hour before, just a few minutes prior to when they were supposed to meet in Washington Square Park. She was late, the snack was ruined, and he was quite put out. After two weeks of not hearing from her, of having his calls either screened, ignored, or just plain blocked, Ryan knew that Marissa had decided to stay with her abusive boyfriend, and, frankly, he wasn't sure how to take the realization. In one word, he was angry - angry at her for not fighting harder to escape, angry at himself for not pushing her more, and angry at the world simply for the fact that it allowed men like Tanner Meriden to prosper and run free when they should, at least, be locked up and, at best, be put down.

Reaching his side, the blonde he could now at least admit to himself that he had feelings for reached out and wrapped an impossibly soft and delicate hand around one of his wrists, stopping him from tossing out the food. "What are you doing?"

"It's ruined now. We can't eat it."

"You got me ice cream," she pressed, ignoring his remarks and attempting, in vain, to lead him and the snack back to the table he had been previously sitting at. "And, strawberry, too, my favorite."

"It was a stupid idea," the physician stated, wrenching himself free from her grasp. Looking her up and down, he rolled his eyes at his own stupidity, finally throwing the summer treat away. "I mean, look at you. It's obvious you wouldn't have eaten it anyway, and, now, because I waited for you to show up, I can't eat mine either. If I did, I'd probably end up in the hospital with food poisoning."

"What? Why?" He didn't answer her. Instead, he pivoted around to leave the park, but, once again, she stopped his progress by touching him. "Ryan, what's gong on? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me," he snapped, throwing up his hands in exasperation. "Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"

The icy tone of his voice inspired animosity from her as well. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, Marissa." Sarcastically, he smiled, but, just as quickly as the grin spread across his face, he let it fall and disintegrate into a glower. "First, why don't you tell me why you were so late."

In the faintest of voices, she replied, "I got a promotion, so things are a little hectic at work right now. There are all these fittings and lighting tests, and I'm even getting a little office of my own."

"So, that's how Tanner paid you off for keeping quiet about the whipping?"

Glaring at him, she warned, "do not talk about that. What, do you want someone to hear you?"

"It might be a good thing if someone did."

"Yeah, well, I disagree. This is my life, Ryan, and you told me you would support me no matter what."

Nodding in recognition, he admitted, "I did, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did, and, from where I'm standing, this is not how a supportive friend would treat someone they cared about."

"Well, maybe I lied," the doctor remarked, making her eyes go wide with shock and hurt. "After all, relationships are two way streets, are they not, and, if you feel the right to lie to me all the time, then why shouldn't I be free to lie to you as well?"

"What are you talking about," she returned testily, her tear filled gaze never once meeting his own equally as emotional yet not as expressive one. "I don't lie to you."

"You've been lying to me since the day we met. Sometimes I think you're so used to lying to everyone in your life, to yourself, that you don't even realize that you're doing it."

"Ryan..."

"Marissa," he returned, interrupting her. "What do you want from me? Two weeks after disappearing from my life, once again, you call me up and ask me to meet you here in private. There are dark shadows under your eyes, it's obvious that you're not sleeping or eating right..."

"So that's what that crack was about earlier when you said that it was obvious that I wouldn't eat?" When all he did was pin her with a knowing look, she relented. "Alright, fine, you're right. I've cut back on my calorie intake, and I've upped my time at the gym."

"By how much and why?"

Hedging, or, in his eyes, lying to him once again, the broken blonde said, "I don't know how much. I'm not a nutritionist, and I'm not a personal trainer, but I can tell you why. I'm getting married, and it's important to me that I look my best on my wedding day. Besides, all the best dress designers won't even consider making you anything unless you're at least a size zero."

Slightly baffled, he queried, "you say that almost as if there's a size smaller than a zero?"

But Marissa didn't answer him. Instead, she kept talking about her wedding. "And it's important to Tanner. We're not just getting married for ourselves but for his job, too. The men he does business with overseas like to deal with family guys, and all these moguls and executives will be there at our reception, and I need to impress them; I need to look my best for them, too."

"That's just sick and twisted and completely unhealthy."

"Oh, what the hell do you know," the young woman barked, pacing away from him. "You've never been in a serious relationship, and you're only a doctor. You have no idea how much pressure Tanner's under, what his kind of lifestyle demands."

"First of all," the medical professional corrected her. "You have no idea who I am, because you haven't allowed yourself to really get to know me, and you haven't given me the chance to show you, so don't you dare stand there and tell me that I don't understand you, or your wonderful fiancée, or the world the two of you live in. Secondly, if anyone should know what is healthy or unhealthy for a human being, it would be a doctor, and, let me tell you, if you keep pushing your body to the extremes like you have been, you will kill yourself, and then what would those foreign businessmen think of their swell family man Tanner?"

"Ryan, why are you so mad at me?"

"I'm not mad at you," he clarified, arguing with what she said. "I'm furious at what you're doing to yourself and what you're allowing others to do to you. I thought you called me here because, despite not talking to me for two weeks, you missed me or you regretted your decision to stay and you needed my help."

"I don't need you to save me; I just need you to be my friend, but, maybe, you're incapable of doing that."

"Maybe I am," the doctor agreed with her, nodding his head in quiet acceptance. "But I know that I can't save you, Marissa; you have to do that yourself." Shrugging his shoulders, he searched for something else to say. "Good luck, I guess, in whatever you decide for yourself. I hope that, someday, you can find some peace, but, until you're ready to help yourself, I need you to stay away from me. It hurts me too much to see you like this."

"Why?"

"Why," he parroted her question, laughing humorously. "I already told you why, Marissa, but I guess that just shows me how much what I say to you matters. I have to get going. See you around."

"Wait," the beautiful blonde called out, running after him. Only after he turned back around did she stop and continue talking. "So I guess you really did lie to me?"

"I guess I did."

It wasn't what he really wanted to tell her. Instead, what he wanted to say was that he was in love with her, and, if she would let him, he would take her away from the terrible life she lived, protect her, and take care of her for the rest of their lives, but she didn't want his love, and, as she told him, she certainly didn't want him to save her. And he knew; he knew that she needed to do those things for herself, that she would never be able to appreciate his love for her or return it until she learned how to love herself first, but it still hurt walking away from her, giving up.

With his whole heart, he hoped she found a way out of the cycle of abuse she had, unwittingly, gotten herself into, but, when she did, he couldn't guarantee that he would be there, waiting for her. His life couldn't be put on pause while she figured her own out, and, if that meant that he would never get to be more than just Marissa's one time friend, then so be it. He could move on, he could fall in love with someone else, and he could, eventually, forget about the tragically flawed woman who had so captured his attention months before, but the first step to accomplishing that was simply walking away, so that's exactly what he did, his regrets only slowing him down but not stopping him.

Summer Roberts, like most interesting individuals, had a wide variety of unique personality quirks. Some she embraced; some she didn't even realize she had, but, nevertheless, they made her who she was, and that was okay with her. After nearly thirty years of life, she had learned to accept and like all the little nuances about herself... even if other people didn't always appreciate them. For instance, one of her quirks was that no matter where she was or what she was doing, she was always eating something. Whether it was stress induced, a nervous habit, or even simply out of sheer boredom, the stimulus for her constant snacking varied, but what was always consistent was the fact that she always had some form of food hidden away somewhere on her person.

On that particular day, her snack of choice was walnuts. Going through racks and racks of bridal gowns, she had to be careful not to be caught eating in the store by the less than busy salesgirls, so she was discreet, only reaching into her large, overly stuffed Marc Jacobs bag when it was absolutely necessary. Unfortunately, for the brunette, because she was less than entertained or even distracted by her current shopping expedition, it was almost constantly necessary for her to nibble on the healthy nuts, consequences be damned.

"Do you realize how many of your allotted daily calories you're wasting by eating those?"

Surprised by the question and startled by the sudden introduction of conversation in what had been an otherwise silent evening, Summer glanced up from the dress she was currently pretending to be looking at and stared at the engaged woman across from her. "What?"

"The walnuts," Marissa explained, gesturing towards her friend's purse. "You've been eating them all afternoon. Are you skipping dinner?"

"Why would I do that?"

Incredulous, the blonde gaped at her. "How could you not? Unless you didn't eat breakfast or lunch..."

"Oh, no, I ate them," the artistic director reassured her. "I always do. These are just a snack."

"But you've practically eaten a whole bag?"

"So what," the brunette asked, sounding incredulous. "I have another unopened bag in there somewhere." Seemingly realizing her mistake, she cringed in apology and said, "oh, I'm sorry. I never offered you any. Would you like my other bag to munch on?"

"Thanks but no thanks. I'm trying to lose weight for the wedding," Marissa explained, waving off her friend's offer, "not gain."

"Are you sure about that, because, let me tell you, a few well placed pounds might help you out a little bit."

Caught off guard, the future news correspondent snapped, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"That simply means that you've already lost, in what is my opinion, too much weight. Don't forget," Summer reminded her, "that I'm the one who is in charge of the wardrobes over at the studio. I measured you two weeks ago for a preliminary idea of what sizes and shapes of clothing to purchase for you, and then I measured you again today because we were going wedding dress shopping, and, in those two weeks, you've already lost another dress size. That's just unhealthy, because, let's face it, there wasn't much for you to lose in the first place."

"It's just for the wedding. I want to look my best for Tanner."

"Of course you do. All brides want to impress their grooms, but Tanner asked you to marry him when you could still stand sideways and not disappear into thin air. Marissa," the brunette admonished her, "your breasts are already practically non-existent, your bones are visible in places no one wants their bones to be visible, and you look like a soft breeze could blow you over. Enough's enough."

"You know as well as I do that designers like their muses to be rail thin," the engaged woman argued, ignoring her friend's frustrated glower. "If I want one of them to design a one of a kind dress for me, then I need to look like the women they hire to walk their runways."

"Exactly," Summer agreed with her. "You need to gain about fifteen pounds."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm being honest," the stylist contradicted her friend. "And besides, who cares what those stodgy, old fashioned designers think anyway. You don't need them."

"Actually, I do."

"Why don't you do something outrageous," the brunette suggested, "something that no other society darling has ever done and go with an unknown, fresh from school designer. In one fated decision, you could make that person's career and put your own name on the map. Whether they like the dress or not, whether they agree with your decision or not, everyone in this town will be talking about you, and, as they say in show business, no publicity is bad publicity."

"But this isn't show business; this is Tanner, my fiance's, career we're talking about here. Besides," Marissa added, dismissing the idea. "I don't know anyone like you're suggesting."

"You don't?"

"Of course not."

"Uh, wrong," the shorter of the two women stated dramatically, popping her hip out and resting her petite hands on her waist. "Did you forget about the person standing in front of you, or am I so short your gazelle like proportions missed me down here where the rest of the world toil?"

"You went to fashion design school, Summer?"

"You don't become an art director for a major television network without having some accreditation. It might not be the perfect job or even what I wanted to do when I first went off to college with stars in my eyes, but it pays the bills and it impresses my Dad enough to keep my monthly stipend flowing in."

"Oh, but I..."

"Don't say another word," the brunette stopped her friend from continuing. She was so inspired by her own idea, she didn't notice the hesitant tone in which the communications employee was speaking or the way her nervous blue eyes were suddenly darting around the room looking for anything besides her companion to rest her upon. "I have this vintage Chanel gown, white of course, that my mother left behind when she ran off with her yoga instructor. While it's finer points might be from the wrong decade, the bones of the dress are still brilliant. I could restructure it, modernize the gown, and we could use that for your wedding dress. What do you think?"

"I think that Coco is currently rolling over in her grave."

"So," Summer realized, slightly pouting. "It's not such a good idea to revamp a Chanel?"

"Probably not."

Disappointed, the shorter of the two women went back to searching through the racks and racks of dresses, looking for inspiration for her engaged friend's wedding gown. That was the second thing anyone who knew Summer Roberts knew about her - she was the ultimate packrat. She never threw anything away, recycling to her meant reconfiguring an out of season article of clothing, and, although she believed in charity, she didn't believe in donating her things to the Salvation Army or the Good Will. Although she'd give anyone who needed help money, she would never give them the designer shirt off her back.

But her obsession with saving things was not limited to the contents of her walk in closet. She had everything from the blanket her parents used to bring her home from the hospital to the very first baby tooth she ever lost packed away. Each and every school paper she ever brought home, every report card or status report from a teacher, be it her preschool teacher or her senior class advisor, she had locked away in a sealed trunk in her father's attic. She clipped interesting magazine articles and kept them even after the paper the article was printed on had yellowed and started to curl. She kept old gift boxes given to her just in case she one day might need them again, and she always saved her receipts even if the items purchased on them were no longer in her possession due to them being a present for someone else or breaking with the wear and use acquired through time. So, although she was disappointed by the fact that Marissa did not want her to redesign the vintage Chanel gown of her mothers that was just hanging in a protected, sealed bag in the back of her closet, the brunette was also relieved that she wouldn't have to part with something she held practically sacred.

Looking up from the dress in her hands, a beautiful off the shoulder, ivory princess gown, the artistic director found her coworker lost in thought. The blonde was not leafing through the racks and racks of dresses at their disposal. Instead, she was staring off into space, totally oblivious to the things and the people around her. If Summer hadn't already spent the next several months of allowance her father would be depositing into her bank account, she would have bet good money that Marissa was not thinking about her fiancée or the wedding she was supposed to be planning. However, what she didn't know, though, was what the journalist was in fact thinking about, and her lack of knowledge, of awareness about her friend, made her curious. Unfortunately, she wouldn't be able to use her third unique personality trait to figure the taller woman out.

Be it born from constantly watching the people around her or from simply growing up in the shallow and appearance obsessed community of Beverly Hills, Summer Roberts could glance at a person, observe their various physical attributes, and determine what kind of person they were. Each detail of a person's facade told her something different about them. From the style, color, and even the texture of their hair to the make, model, and fit of their shoe, every single nuance, whether intentional or not, about a person told the brunette something about them. She could tell just by looking at someone if they were witty or a bore, if they were generous or a spendthrift, if they were kind hearted or had a hidden cruel streak within them. Her gift had never failed her... that was until she met Marissa Cooper.

She had known the quiet, reserved blonde for several years now. As she worked her way up through the art department at the studio, her friend had remained stagnant in her job as someone else's assistant, so, even though their paths at the work place didn't cross too often, she still took notice of the other woman. Perhaps it was because her appearance was so closely designed to reveal absolutely nothing about her that Summer found herself naturally gravitating towards the blonde, seeing her as a challenge of sorts to figure out, but, whatever the reason, they had become friends, and, as they stood together in the designer wedding dress boutique on Madison Avenue, for the first time since they met, the taller of the two women was finally showing cracks in the veneer of her personality, a weakness or two, but, still, Summer could not pin down who she was.

"Listen, I'm sorry about this," Marissa prefaced her next statement, interrupting the brunette's thoughts, "but I have to go. I need to get to the gym, and..."

"Wait," the stylist demanded. "I thought you went to the gym this morning?"

"I did, but, with the wedding coming up, I've been trying to go at least twice a day." Although she disagreed with her friend, although she wanted to point out that she was taking the idea of weight loss to an unhealthy level, Summer remained silent, knowing that her words would go unheeded and that, instead of being taken as the friendly advice they were meant to be, they would only upset her blonde friend more. "Anyway, I appreciate you coming with me, but, at this point, I don't even know what kind of dress I want. I think I'll ask Tanner what he wants me to where, and, then, I'll get back to you. Thanks, Summer."

Without waiting for her to respond, without waiting for her to object to the idea of asking the groom what he wanted to see his bride wear, a complete reversal of tradition, Marissa simply disappeared from the store, leaving Summer there with her walnuts and several disapproving and slightly annoyed salesgirls. Walking out, she ignored the calls from behind her, the women loudly asking, demanding to know what she wanted done with the many racks of dresses she had requested access to, and simply continued on her way, her hand permanently placed in her purse, a dejected frown creating lines across her otherwise smooth and flawless face.

Something was wrong with her friend, and, in that moment, she promised herself that, one way or another, she would figure out exactly what it was and be there for her anyway. After all, how many wanna-be designers had their own personal Barbie doll to dress up, and, that aside, on a more altruistic level, she had a feeling Marissa needed someone to support her in her life, and, like it or not, she was going to be that person.

She didn't know why she was there or what she hoped to accomplish by going to see him. Just hours before, they had gotten into a fight, but seeing him again, talking to him, thinking about him again, had caused so many doubts to filter through the wall she had built around her heart, making her question whether or not she was doing the right thing. She had basically run away from Summer while they had been dress shopping, abandoning the only friend she had left to go to the gym so she could attempt to work out all the worries currently plaguing her mind. But the treadmill and its repetitive motion had only seemed to compound Ryan's voice in her head. As her feet smacked against the belt of the exercise machine, his accusations and challenges had assaulted her, leaving her breathless and sweaty, not from exertion but from sheer fright. The same results had come from the elliptical machine, the bike, the weight machines, even the pilates class she had taken in an effort to calm herself down. So, out of options and desperate, she found herself standing outside Ryan's door, knocking incessantly as she waited for him to answer.

He had given her his address the day he had walked out of her own apartment to return to his life, leaving the decisions that would mold her future in her hands, probably never once thinking that she would throw away the chance of escape that he was giving her for a life of repression and pain with Tanner. But, even when she was trying to leave that morning, in the back of her mind, she knew that she wasn't strong enough to face the man she had been living with for several years. Running away from him when he wasn't there was one thing, but facing him, confronting him, and walking away when he was standing there before her was impossible.

Just the sight of him alone served to remind her of all the responsibilities and loyalty she had, not only towards him because of everything he had given her over the years but also towards her family, her mother and her sister, who, although they had never returned the favor towards her, she still felt, for some unknown reason, like she owed. As soon as she had agreed to become Tanner's wife, she had accepted the fact that she would never once visit the address Ryan had given her, but, nevertheless, there she was anyway, risking everything she had worked for and suffered through for years just for a moment of peace.

But then he opened the door, looking deliciously normal in a pair of boxers and a tank top, the oppressive summer heat demanding he wear nothing else but what was necessary. By the still damp appearance of his hair, Marissa knew he had just gotten out of the shower, and he looked so fresh, so natural, no uncomplicated, that she knew one moment of peace with him wouldn't be enough. So, without thought of the consequences or even of what Ryan's reaction might be, she leaned forward and kissed him, wrapped herself around his stunned body and allowed herself to melt into his embrace, savoring the feeling of contentment and safety she experienced as soon as his arms came up to wind around her tightly.

They didn't talk; neither of them questioned what was happening between them. Not knowing what being with him would mean to herself, Marissa had no ability to reason what being with him might mean to Ryan. Instead, she was simply lost in the moment. As their mouths continued to mate, the strokes of their tongues tender and sweet, delicate and safe, he slowly undressed her, pushing the door shut behind them as he, without taking his gaze away from her searching, needing, pleading eyes to look to see where they were going, guided them towards his bedroom. When every last article of her clothing was strewn into a path that led from the entrance of the doctor's home to his bedside, Ryan started to undress himself, suddenly moving at a much quicker pace. But, still, his actions didn't scare or confuse her. Being with him still felt right, still felt safe.

And, as he made love to her, she never once felt an ounce of pain or guilt. Their coupling was sweet, passionate, and, even when it seemed as if they were both lost in the throes of desire, he took care of her, stopping mid-motion to blindly reach into his bedside drawer to find a condom. It was the first time in years that she found sex enjoyable, and, even as the thought floated through her mind afterwards as she lay snuggled against a sleeping Ryan, she rejected it. Something as pure, as innocent as what she had just shared with the man beside her couldn't be described as callously as simply having sex. That's what she called being with Tanner, and being with Ryan was a totally different experience. Finally, with him, she had learned what it was like to make love to a man.

However, that didn't stop the guilt from crashing down around her after she was left alone with her thoughts. Once Ryan was asleep, once his body was no longer stimulating her own, once the noises of the outside world, the sirens, the horns of the taxi-cabs, and the general sound of life always moving about in New York City permeated the previous emotional and physical cocoon of silence she had been existing under while surrounded by the man who was currently holding her, doubts and worries about her previous actions were the only things she could think about.

The pleasure disappeared, the feeling of safety and security all but vanished, and she was left with the nagging concern of what her fiancée would do if he ever found out that she had cheated on him. Like always, though, her concern was not for her own welfare but for those who meant the most to her. She was concerned for her mother and her sister, and, most of all, she was concerned about Ryan. If Tanner found about him and what he meant to her, she knew that her fiancée would stop at nothing to teach her a lesson, and, if that meant hurting or even killing Ryan, so be it. He had connections, and, in Marissa's mind, he couldn't be touched, not even by the law.

So with fear prompting her, she climbed out of bed, careful to not wake or disturb Ryan as he slept on. Gathering her clothes, she put them back on, making sure to delete any trace of her previous existence in the small, bachelor apartment. When she was satisfied with her actions, she slipped out the door, closing it silently behind her, and walked away from the only source of peace she had managed to find in years. She knew that Ryan would never forgive her, that he would feel used and unappreciated, and, although she never wanted him to doubt the feelings she had for him, it was more important to her that he live a happy and safe life somewhere far away from her twisted existence then to be dragged into the mess she had solely created with Tanner simply because of a sense of obligation he felt towards her. That was why she left without waking him, without even leaving a note, and she hoped someday, someday when he could barely recall the scared, timid woman who had blown into his life one fateful day in a hospital cubical, that he would forgive her. However, no matter if he did forget and forgive her, she knew that she would never be able to forget him or forgive herself. It was just one more regret she would be forced to live with for the rest of her life, but that was something she was used to.

Rolling over in bed, Ryan noticed two things. One, that after falling prey the male stigma of going to sleep after sex, he had managed to waste away most of the evening. It was now the dead of night, leaving his apartment otherwise dim except for the neon flashes of light piercing in through the heavy draperies of his windows from the streets below. Secondly, after reaching for and finding nothing beside him, he realized that Marissa was no longer in bed. Wondering just how very long he had slept, he flicked on a nearby lamp, grimacing at the harsh light before his eyes eventually adjusted to the sudden infusion of brightness, but, once they did adjust, all he wanted to do was go back to sleep, to return to the state of unconscious naivete he had been previously existing under. But he was an adult, so he was forced to face reality, and, instead of offering him a glimpse of what his life might be like with the woman he loved at his side, he found out what it was like to be loved and left.

There wasn't a single trace of Marissa in his apartment. Her clothes were gone, her side of the bed was smoothed out and tucked in, and she had even disposed of the condom they had used, effectively erasing her presence from his life. If it wasn't for the vivid memories of their first and only time together piercing through the almost drugged-like stupor his mind was currently working under, the physician wasn't sure he would believe the encounter had occurred himself.

Climbing out of bed, he made his way around the room, checking for a note of some kind that would explain why Marissa had left so suddenly and without waking him to talk. But no note could be found. Moving into the bathroom and then the rest of the apartment, his things were as he had previously left them, and, again, there was no note in sight. Attempting to call her, he got the same impersonal message he had been receiving for two weeks, that the number he was dialing was disconnected. Discouraged, he was about to give up when he noticed the flashing light on his answering machine, alerting him to the fact that he had a missed call and a message. Immediately, he felt hope surge though him.

Pressing the button, a loud, booming, male voice the filled the room, taking him back many years and several thousand miles. Unfortunately, it was not the voice he wanted to hear. "Listen, Ryan, I'm going to cut right to the chase," Caleb Nichol, his grandfather, told him. "I have a business proposition for you. I realize that you like New York, that you have enjoyed being on your own, but it's time for you to come home. Your brother is lost without you, your parents miss you, and I," the older man paused, clearing his throat, "wouldn't mind arguing theoretical issues with you more often than I get to at this point, so that's why, if you accept my business proposal, you will be forced into relocating back west. When you get the chance, call me. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

Reacting emotionally, Ryan picked up the phone. Not having to think, he dialed his grandfather back, the number already memorized in his head. He thought that sleeping together meant that Marissa wanted to be with him, that she was going to leave Tanner, that she was ready to finally break free from the cycle of abuse she had lived under for years, but, apparently, he was wrong, and, if what they had shared that evening meant so little to her, then why the hell should he stop living his life because of it? Decision made, he started speaking as soon as his grandfather's voice mail picked up.

"I don't know what your offer is or what it'll include me doing, but, at this point, I don't care. Sign me up. I'm ready to come home. There's nothing... and no one tying me to New York. Just give me two weeks to wrap things up here, and, then, I'm yours."

And, just like that, everything was changed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Will to Leave**

**Chapter Six**

Hands down, in her opinion, one of the best inventions of the modern age was the phone answering service, be it by machine or voice mail, and, as Summer sat down to a dinner of linguine with clam sauce, ready to watch a fashion marathon on the Style Network, she was ever so grateful for her own answering machine. The phone rang, she ignored it, and, whoever it was trying to reach her, started to leave a message. So engrossed in what she was doing, it took her several moments to realize that the call might be important, so, with a huff of aggravation, she set her takeout container down, ambled slowly, on purpose, just to teach the person on the other line a lesson not to disturb people during dinner time, and, when she felt as if they had waited long enough for her, picked up the receiver.

Immediately, the voice asked, "is this Summer Roberts?"

"Well, if it wasn't, would you be calling here?"

It took the man several beats to sort through her snarky comment before he replied, "If it is at all possible, I need you to come down here. There's a... situation... that needs handled."

Because she had not been listening earlier, the brunette needed clarification. "And where's here exactly?"

"I already told you," the stranger complained before rattling off the street and building number again. As she listened to him provide her with reference points, Summer mentally went through the New York grid, pinning down for herself exactly where the apartment building was located.

Interrupting him, she stated, "I know where you're at, so stop wasting both of our times. What's going on? Why do you need me? How do you even know me, and how did you get my number? I've never been to that building before in my life."

"One question at a time, please, Miss."

"Ugh, how about not," the creative director argued, her temper starting to rise. "Listen, you called me, interrupted my dinner, and now you think you're going to tell me what to do. Oh, hell no. Now, either tell me what's going on, or I'm hanging up and turning off my phone. Is that clear?"

"As Swarovski."

"Good," Summer stated, mentally applauding the man's choice of reference. Perhaps they could parlay with each other after all. "Now, tell me about this situation."

"You do you know Marissa Cooper, don't you?"

Sighing, the brunette nodded, then realized that the stranger couldn't see her, so she answered, "yes. What does this have to do with her?"

It had been three weeks since their disastrous trip to the bridal boutique, and, though the blonde was still talking to her at work, sometimes even joining her for lunch while she pretended to eat her food, Summer could sense that she was uncomfortable around her, that there was something on her mind, and that she was even more distracted than she had been that afternoon the two of them had gone shopping together. But, no matter what she said or did, her friend would not open up to her, and, even though she was flying blind and had nothing to go on, the stylist assumed whatever this call was about had to do with Marissa's secrets.

"She came to visit a friend of hers who used to live here, and, when she discovered that he was no longer in residence, she sort of... had a meltdown."

"And..."

"And she refuses to leave the building. Hell, she's holed herself up in the elevator and won't open the doors. We can hear her crying from inside of them, and, even though I don't want to do this, if we don't get her out of there soon, I'm going to have to call the police. When I told her this, she told me to call you. So," the man on the phone drawled out pointedly, perhaps even testing her strained patience on purpose. "Will you come down here or not?"

"I'm on my way."

Hanging up the phone, Summer found herself scrambling around her apartment as she searched for a matching pair of shoes to go out in. Luckily, she wouldn't have to worry about getting a taxi at that time of night; her destination was close enough that she could walk, perhaps jogging when the sidewalks cleared out enough for a faster pace. Finally locating a pair of tennis shoes, her least favorite pair of footwear but they would come in handy for her excursion, she pushed her feet in them and was out the door without a second thought, leaving both her dinner cooling rapidly on her coffee table and the Style Network blaring behind her.

So, Marissa was hiding another man, the brunette realized. Instead of smirking or reveling in the gossip, though, she found herself sad for her friend. There was something definitely wrong with her life if she had to be so secretive. Was this suddenly M.I.A. guy merely a friend or was he more to the news correspondent? Did Marissa have feelings for him; was that why she was so upset by his departure? And where had he gone? Did he just move to a different apartment building, had he gone on a trip without telling her, or, worst case scenario, had he left the city completely?

Wanting answers on top of her concern for the blonde woman spurred the creative director to move quickly, and, before she had even registered the fact that she had traversed the eight and half blocks between her own apartment and the building she had been called to, she was there, shoved towards the elevator, and kneeling down to speak through the closed doors.

"Marissa?"

Without word, the doors to the lift opened long enough for Summer to scramble inside, but, as soon as she was seated beside the shell shocked woman currently holding the elevator hostage, the button was pressed to close them once again. She waited patiently for her friend to tell her what was wrong, hell, to say anything, but, instead, they simply remained in silence. The brunette allowed the quiet to cocoon them for as long as she could handle the stillness, but, eventually, she couldn't bite her tongue any longer, and she exploded softly.

"What is going on? Who was this guy to you?"

"Ryan was," her voice trailed off until the point where she was no longer talking. After several moments, she glanced up and met Summer's gaze, and the stylist had to bite back a gasp of horror. What she saw before her was a broken woman, someone who felt as if they had nothing left to live for. Continuing on, she admitted, "he was everything and nothing to me all at the same time."

And, from there, the shorter of the two women listened as the entire story came out. She heard about how Marissa had met the doctor at the hospital he worked at, she heard about how he had orchestrated for them to run into each other at an art gallery, how they had struck up a friendship only for it to fade when he wanted more and she was afraid to give it to him. Her friend confessed how she had almost left Tanner, but, at the last minute, had changed her mind. When the blonde got to the part of the story where she admitted to having cheated on her fiancée to be with the other man, Summer felt as if her head was spinning. While so much information had been thrown at her, she could tell that there were key pieces of the tale missing, for nothing made sense.

If Marissa's feelings for the other man were so strong, why the hell was she still with Tanner? Although Summer, of course, knew of the future journalist's fiancée, she had never personally met him herself. Mr. Meriden avoided those employees as lowly as herself, and she certainly wasn't feeling the loss. From what she had heard about the man from office gossip, he was difficult to please and a male chauvinist, two things that would set off her temper. It would be just her luck to meet the influential boy wonder, tell him off for his egotism, and get fired. In fact, when she thought about it, she was surprised that Marissa was with him, but she wasn't one to judge other people's relationships, especially since she had never had a successful one herself. But, still, wasn't there some truth to the idea that those who couldn't do themselves could teach, and, from where she was currently sitting on the elevator floor, her advice to her friend would be that she didn't love her fiancée.

Instead of telling Marissa that, though, she stood up and, eventually, cajoled the taller woman into doing so as well. "Listen," Summer told her. "We really have to get you out of here. Why don't I ride with you in the cab back to your apartment. I'll walk you upstairs, we'll make plans to meet up tomorrow to talk, and, for tonight, you just get some sleep? How does that sound to you?"

"Sleep?"

"Yeah," the brunette rolled her eyes playfully, teasing her friend, "you know, that thing that's even better than being drunk, because, after you wake up, there's no hangover."

Smiling for the first time that evening, Marissa remarked, "I think I've heard of it before."

"Seeing as how you're not dead, I'd think that would be a safe bet."

With the moment of humor over, Summer opened the elevator doors, took her coworker by the arm, and led her out of the apartment building. On her way past the front desk, she offered an appreciative smile to the stranger who had called her, and he returned it with one of his own, thankful that she had managed to get the blonde out of the elevator.

On the way back to the apartment, they both remained silent, lost in thought about what had transpired between them back in the lift. There were no need for promises, oaths of trust and silence, for, without saying the words, Marissa seemed to sense that the stylist wouldn't spread around the secrets she had confided in her, and Summer, knowing that her friend simply needed to be left alone, didn't press for more information or offer up any advice. By the time they arrived at the penthouse, it was obvious that the blonde was about to collapse from sheer exhaustion, and the creative director was beyond thankful when the apartment's door was pulled open hastily.

Finally seeing Tanner Meriden up close and personal, she had to admit to herself that she was sorely disappointed. While the man might have been physically attractive, there was something about him that left her cold, but she shook off the nonsense intuition, smiled gratefully at the man, and simply stated, "Marissa's had a rough day. She needs to rest."

"Of course," the fiancée agreed, taking his betrothed from her arms and leaning the woman he was about to marry against his own body. "What happened?"

"Oh, you know," Summer covered, lying effortlessly. "With everything going on in her life, I think it all just caught up to her. Between the job promotion and the wedding, she's exhausting herself. All she needs is a little R&R, and she'll be back to normal."

"Well, thanks for bringing her home..."

"Summer," the brunette supplied, curious by the fact that her friend's fiancée didn't even know her name. Talk about a lack of communication.

"I'm going to help her into the bedroom," the media mogul stated, nodding towards the far end of the penthouse."

"And I'll show myself out," she told him, returning the gesture by nodding towards the still open front door.

However, as she watched him move away with Marissa in his arms, she waited for him to disappear before reaching in the blonde's purse and pulling out her cell phone. Scanning the contact list as quickly as she could, she found a mysterious number labeled only as 'R' and guessed that it was the infamous Ryan. Memorizing the seven digits, she slipped the mobile back into her friend's purse, laid it on the table in the entryway, and slipped out of the apartment, eager to leave the cold and unfeeling home. How anyone could happily reside there, she had no idea, but, then again, the decorating tastes of the people she worked with were none of her business.

Catching the down elevator, all previous doubts and questions about Marissa's situation, about her fiancée, and even those about the home the two of them shared disappeared. She was a woman on a mission, and, before everything was said and done, she was determined to speak to Mr. Ryan Atwood herself. There was something she had to tell him, and she wouldn't stop until he heard, digested, and reacted accordingly to the piece of mind she had to offer him.

Men, she snorted to herself, rolling her eyes. All of them were asshats.

Seth Cohen was severely frustrated, and it had nothing to do with either his career or his sex life, no matter how dismal the state of either might be. Instead, he was about to ship his only, much beloved brother back to New York. Despite being separated by thousands of miles, they had managed to have more meaningful conversations over the phone during the past few years than they were currently having with the blonde back living at Casa de la Cohen. He wanted the Batman to his Robin back, and, if he could only get that by buying his only sibling a one way ticket back to the city that never sleeps, especially when you're related to Seth Cohen who might just call you at four in the morning, than so be it.

However, before he reacted rashly, something he was really trying to stop doing, he had decided to give a day out with his brother one last shot. Currently, they were making their way towards his favorite beach side diner, walking slowly, almost aimlessly in near silence. The usual topics had been exhausted. They had discussed, much to his chagrin, the weather of Southern California, comparing its almost tropical like breezes and dry heat to the sweltering humidity of a summer in the Northeast. Then they had moved on to Seth, a topic he normally found stimulating, but, after a week of discussing little else but himself, even the curly haired brunette was tiring of hearing about his own dreams and aspirations, likes and dislikes.

At that point, the only thing he really wanted to talk about was the figurative elephant in the room - what the hell was Ryan doing back home? His brother wouldn't tell him anything though. He simply said that it was a sound business decision, and, when more things were finalized, he'd share with him the good news. There was nothing on how this wondrous business deal had come about, nothing about leaving his previous life behind to start over almost from scratch in a different state, and there was definitely nothing about a certain leggy blonde Seth knew his brother had abandoned in the Big Apple. In fact, if he even tried to say a word that started with the letter M, his only sibling would leave the room, locking himself away in the pool house like a little girl, and it was really starting to irk him.

Talk about cutting a vast hole through his vocabulary. He could no longer ruminate on his nostalgia for the Mario Brothers. One mention of either Mario or Luigi, and Ryan would be slamming doors and throwing a tantrum to rival any of his previous fits from adolescence. And, with the ban on the letter M, there went maraschino cherries, eight different states, and all discussion on mustaches and mohawks. He couldn't talk about mustangs, and everyone knew that Seth Cohen was a closet muscle car freak, moo shoo pork, or even the mall, something they both absolutely _adored_. Hell, he couldn't even bellow for his Mom any longer.

Enough was enough.

Determined to get his best friend to talk to him that morning, Seth had suggested they go to the diner for a late lunch, and, with nothing else to do and running out of excuses as to why he should hibernate, Ryan had agreed. So, here they were, walking into the little restaurant, side by side physically but, mentally, separated by leagues.

"So..."

"Just get to the point, Seth," his only sibling beseeched him. "I know we're not here because you had a sudden craving for banana pancakes with chocolate chips and whipped cream. What do you really want?"

"I want you to talk to me."

"For the past week, all I've done is talk to you. I talk to you everyday, all day," Ryan pointed out, never once looking up from the menu he was holding despite the facts that the old diner hadn't changed the list of food they had to offer in years and that they had memorized the menu when they were still kids. "What more do you want from me? Do you want me to start talking to you in my sleep, because, if so, I can try to work on that."

"While that would be helpful," the brunette commented flippantly, "that's not why we're here, and you know it. And, for the record," he added, finding himself suddenly on a roll. "I would appreciate it if you would stop taking your anger out on me. I'm not the one you're pissed at, so, whatever this little hissy fit you've been throwing for the past seven days is about, just stop it right now. I mean, dude, come on. You're starting to sound like me."

"And there's only room in this family for one complainer, right?"

"Damn straight," Seth remarked, nodding his head emphatically. "Now, just get it over with. I know that something happened in New York, I know that it has something to do with Marissa, and I know that it's the reason why you, all of a sudden, moved out here, so, unless you want me to keep harassing you for answers, just tell me what happened."

"We slept together."

Grinning brightly, the younger of the two men slapped the table as if to applaud his sibling. "Well, congratulations. It's about time. So, let me guess," he warded off any further remarks by the doctor to say, "the two of you decided to give it a try, and you moved out here to find a little love shack for you to share, a place where you can fall disgustingly in love, get married, and have lots of little perfect blonde haired, blue eyed babies at?"

"Not exactly."

Suddenly dejected, the aimless freeloader sighed. "Oh."

"Yeah," Ryan commiserated, waving towards their waitress to signal that they were ready to order. Once the girl had taken down what they wanted to eat, disappearing into the kitchen to leave them alone, he explained. "We slept together, I thought we were finally getting somewhere, and, when I woke up, she was gone."

Screwing up his face in preparation for what he was about to ask, Seth queried, "it wasn't bad was it?" He could see the annoyance flickering in his brother's gaze, so he hurried to clarify. "I mean, it was your first time together. Neither of you really knew what the other liked, you weren't used to each other yet, and, although I don't know details, thank god, I do know that it's been a while since you... got your rocks off. Maybe you were out of practice... rusty even."

"I'm not dignifying that question with an answer."

"Okey Dokey."

"And don't say 'okey dokey,' Seth," the older of the two brothers demanded.

"I can't help it," the brunette defended himself. "Eventually, Rose rubs off on you."

Ryan only shook his head in surrender and slight confusion. "Anyway," he continued, "once I realized she wasn't there, I checked my answering machine, and, instead of having a message from Marissa, there was one from Caleb."

"Grandpa called you? Big surprise there. I think he's finally given up on me though. Two weeks ago, we went out to lunch together, and, before the appetizers were even served, he told me I was hopeless and walked out. I stayed anyway," he reassured his best friend, as if Ryan was actually worried about the next thing he was going to say, "and made sure that I charged my extravagant meal to his tab."

"And your point is?"

"Oh, nothing," Seth realized, redirecting their conversation. "So, what did Gramps want?"

"He offered me a business deal."

"Caleb Nichol wanting to discuss business, scheming to find ways to make more money, who would have thunk it," the curly haired comic geek cracked the joke at the older man's expense. "And, since you're here, I take it you took him up on his offer?"

"As soon as I hung up from calling him, I gave the hospital my two weeks notice and started packing."

"And what did Marissa say?"

Despite the fact that he simply refused to tear his gaze away from a group of surfers riding the Pacific waves, Ryan calmly stated, "I didn't tell her."

"So, let me get this straight," the younger brother prefaced. "You slept with the girl, she disappeared without word or note, and, then, without contacting her, you moved across the country? Can you two get any more complicated or dramatic?"

"There's nothing complicated about it, Seth. She made herself perfectly clear when she walked out on me, going back to him for the second time. I didn't owe her anything, and, now, I'm moving on. In fact," the blonde stated, his eyes searching around the familiar diner. "I think it's time that I started dating again."

"Yes, that's the perfect idea," the younger of the two brothers flippantly remarked, but, when his older counterpart wouldn't listen, he asked, "so soon? What's the rush? Are you trying to hurt her in return for her hurting you?"

"She has nothing to do with this," Ryan argued, standing up and making his way towards a pretty redheaded waitress. "Besides, she'll never know, right?"

"Whatever you say..."

But, before he could leave their table, his phone started ringing. Seth watched on as his brother seized the vibrating device, ignored the call, and waited to delete the message without even listening to it first. Then, once he was finished, he dropped the communication device back onto the Formica covered tabletop and went after the young woman who had, apparently, caught his attention earlier. But Seth didn't join him.

Instead, he carefully looked at the cell, memorizing the number displayed on the missed call screen. While his only sibling might think that New York and everything it held for him was safely in his past, the dark haired man knew it was just lingering there waiting to pounce and do the most possible damage it could. The past was never really the past until a person could move on both physically and emotionally, and, while Ryan's body was definitely in California, his heart was still very much on the East Coast, firmly held by one seemingly unforgettable blonde. Putting the phone back before his brother could realize he had been looking at it, Seth vowed that he would do whatever it took to protect his best friend... even if that meant going behind his back and lying to him.

She was alone with Tanner, and never had she been more afraid in her life. While they had had company, he had been sweet to her, even caring and tender, but she hadn't been fooled. As soon as his arm had wrapped around her shoulders, she could feel the tension in his body, the anger radiating off of him in waves. They had shared a relatively peaceful five weeks since he had returned from his business trip, but she feared the tentative stillness they had been existing under was about to crumble over top of them, and all she could wish for was a delay.

It wasn't as if she expected an engagement to completely change the dynamics of their relationship, but, after discovering that Ryan had simply disappeared from her life, packed his thing, and left the city, all she wanted to do was fall into bed and forget that the rest of the world was still spinning. In her own little corner of life, she wanted everything to cease around her if only just for a few moments so she could catch her breath and settle her emotions. But Summer was gone, and she could hear Tanner pacing outside of her dressing room, minutes perhaps even seconds away from shattering through all the defenses she had managed to build up around herself during the bath she had just taken.

He had allowed her that much at least, she reasoned, trying to find a spark of appreciation towards her fiancée. And he had a right to be mad at her. She had been secretive, cold, and extremely distant towards him for the past three weeks, breaking every tenant of their silent arrangement. He would provide for her, giving her and her family anything and everything they might want, and all she had to do was cater to his every whim. What he said was rule in their relationship, but she had not been acting accordingly since the night she had spent with Ryan... not that Tanner knew that.

It was just that after feeling loved for the first time in her life, the young woman found it hard to go back to an existence of anything but complete and total understanding and compassion. And the idea of letting her fiancée touch her body after she had slept with Ryan repulsed her, so she offered up excuses, lying and manipulating her way out of having sex with the man she had promised to marry. While she knew she wouldn't be able to keep the game up forever, it had to go on for a little while longer, at least until she either found Ryan or managed to forget what he meant to her.

That's why she had gone to his apartment that afternoon. After three weeks of not being able to think of anything but what it felt like to have him hold her in his arms, she had caved, giving in to her emotions, her desires, and she had ran to him just as she had promised the both of them she wouldn't. She had believed herself ready to finally leave Tanner, ready to throw away everything she had been working towards since she left home as a teenager, for a chance at something real, something that made her feel important and respected. But, then, Ryan hadn't been there, and Summer had brought her back home to the man who she knew she deserved but didn't want any more... if she ever had.

"What's going on with you?"

The question was bland, almost too vague for comprehension, but both she and Tanner knew exactly what he meant by it. Ignoring him, though, she continued to go about her nightly routine, brushing out her long, luxurious blonde hair, applying the scented cream she wore to bed, and attempting to keep a calm, cool, and collected facade despite the fact that she felt as if her insides were crumbling and disintegrating before her very eyes. Finally, she replied, "I don't know what you mean."

"For fuck's sake, Marissa," he exploded, striding across the room to loom over her prone form. "It's been three weeks!"

"Really," she pretended to muse, appearing as carefree and unconcerned as she practically could. "I hadn't noticed. I guess I've just been tired."

"Well, I'm not."

"Tanner, please," she brushed him off, standing up from her vanity to walk past him, but, just as she was about to escape, he grabbed her upper arm, wrenching her around to face him.

In the deathly silence of the dressing room, the chilling sound of her shoulder popping out of place echoed and vibrated off the impressive and almost hostile marble only to be quickly followed by her sobs of pain. But the terror, the torture didn't end there. Throwing her down to the ground, she almost breathed a sigh of momentarily relief until her dislocated shoulder hit against the unforgiving strength of the floor, wrenching it even further out of place and pulling another scream of sheer misery from her shaking form. Tanner only laughed. Reaching down, he fisted her long locks in one of his hands before dragging her from the room, kicking, begging, her limbs flying out aimlessly as she sought enough traction to stop their advance. But it was useless. Already hurt, she was no match for her fiancée's power, so, giving in, temporarily, she allowed him to pull her into their bedroom.

Steeling herself for his attack, she was startled out of her haze of pain when she felt neither his feet connecting with her ribs nor his hands seeking to harm her body. Instead, she opened her eyes to see him focused on himself, his fingers working rapidly to unfasten his pants. Instantly, she knew what his intent was, and, with every fiber of her being, she tried to get away from him, pushing herself with her legs and scooting on her backside as far away from the man she had agreed to marry as her injured and uselessly dangling arm would allow her to. But Tanner simply followed, smirking in amusement at her antics.

"No," she pleaded, repeating it to herself over and over again as he kneeled down before her, gripped her hips, and twisted her around so that she was laying on her stomach.

"No, no, no," she sobbed until one of his hands tangled in her hair and held her face down into the carpet, practically suffocating her as, with his other, free hand, he ripped away the material of her thin, silk nightgown and panties.

"Please, make him stop, make him change his mind, make him leave me alone," she silently begged anyone who might be listening to her, a higher force she sometimes didn't believe in but needed in that moment more than she ever had previously in her entire life. But no one seemed to hear her.

Crying softly to herself, the pain in her arm almost blinding, Marissa fought back as much as she could, but with her legs pinned down by Tanner's body, the only thing she could do was squirm slightly, and it was no where near enough movement to prevent him from hurting her.

And, then, as he forced his way into her, as she felt him tear into her weak and vulnerable body, as he claimed her once again as his and only his, it seemed as if she shut down. She stopped asking for mercy, she stopped struggling, and she stopped fighting back. The only sign that she was still awake, still conscious of what was being done to her were the soundless rivers of tears making their way down her blotchy and quivering cheeks. As she lay there, almost outside of her own body, she could feel the bruises forming on her thighs, the slight trails of blood smeared over her otherwise porcelain skin, and, what felt like hours later but was really only minutes, she could feel her fiancée releasing his seed inside of her, killing another piece of her fractured soul.


	7. Chapter 7

**Will to Leave**

**Chapter Seven**

In Colleen Fitzpatrick's opinion, going to a carnival on the first date was an odd choice, but, nevertheless, there she was, the bright lights, the gleeful sounds of children having fun, and the constant motion surrounding them distracting both she and Ryan from actually having to talk to one another. Who knows - maybe that was his intentions, but, so far, their entire evening together had been odd. She had assumed they would either go to the movies and then out to dinner or try something a little more adventurous if not cliche and go rollerblading on the pier, but, instead, in a silent car, he had driven them to a local fair, and, since then, they had been wandering around, occasionally stopping to play a game or watching someone else win a stuffed animal that would, inevitably, end up in the garbage after a few months' time. It was definitely not what she had in mind when she had agreed to go out with the blonde.

But, then again, who was she to argue? The guy was uber-cute, obviously intelligent, if not overly talkative at least polite and considerate towards her, and he was a doctor. Although she would have dated him even if he was clown who made unrecognizable balloon animals at children's parties as long as he had a good heart and even better intentions, but knowing that he wasn't, knowing that he had his PHD, well, that was just an added bonus, one she couldn't wait to call home and brag about to her three older sisters. Her little brother wouldn't care, so she wouldn't rush out to tell him, but even her parents would be impressed. So, if the doctor thought they should spend their first date at a carnival, she wasn't going to protest.

At the same time, though, Ryan seemed distracted, like his mind wasn't on her or their surroundings but far away, perhaps even with someone else, and, despite all his good points, she really didn't feel like being party to someone else's memories, and she certainly didn't want to be the rebound girl. So, needing answers, needing to know something about the man beside her who had asked her out a couple of weeks ago, she ignored the crowds surrounding them, grabbed his hand, and drug him to a partially secluded, somewhat secure area of the grounds. If he wasn't going to initiate conversation, then she would.

"Listen, you know, I really appreciate you asking me out, but are you sure that you really want to be here... with me?"

The older man turned to her, astonishment clearly written across his otherwise confused and almost wounded looking face. Looking into his clear blue eyes, she could see the pain swirling undisguised in their depths. "What do you mean?"

"First of all," Colleen stated, slightly teasing him. "What kind of guy takes a girl to a carnival on a first date? We're supposed to be getting to know each other not struggling to keep track of one another in the crowd. And, secondly, you don't even seem to be here half the time anyway. What gives?"

He scratched the side of his face, tilting away from her penetrating almost demanding gaze. "Okay, so maybe this wasn't the best idea I've ever had."

"You think?"

"But I guess I had some unfinished business with someone else, somewhere else, and I brought you here in the hopes of either forgetting about it or moving past it."

The twenty-five year old waitress who dreamed of someday being able to pay the bills and put food on her table by simply just acting sighed. So, she was a rebound girl. "Come on," she gestured vaguely for Ryan to follow her. "Let's go someplace else, and, if you promise to buy me dinner, I'll let you tell me all about her."

"What, how," the blonde started sputtering though he followed after her just as she had instructed. "I never said there was anyone else."

"Not in so many words, but I'm a woman, and we can just sort of sense these things." Pausing, she turned around, smiling at him gently. "Look, Ryan, there's no hard feelings, okay? I just... before you can be ready to move on, before you can be ready to take someone on a first date, you need to deal with whatever or whoever it is that's holding you back. If talking to someone who's objective helps, then I'm here, and, if not, then, after we eat, of course, I have something in mind that we can do, something cathartic. Now, get your posterior in gear," she ordered companionably. "Like the good middle organ that it is, my stomach is demanding attention."

Not even two hours in a doctor's presence, Colleen laughed to herself as she led them out of the twisting and confusing paths of the carnival, purposely designed to get attendees to stay longer than either necessary or that they wanted to, and she was already using medical terms. Maybe she should audition for a role on a medical drama.

Seth was trying to relax. Ryan was out on his date, however loosely that term should be applied since he was taking her to a carnival and clearly still hung up on a woman the younger man wasn't even allowed to think about in his presence let alone speak of, and, for the first time in nearly a month, he had been given a chance to be alone. Never before did he think that there could be too much brother bonding time between he and his best friend, but, because Ryan's new private practice funded by their grandfather, the business proposal Caleb had used to lure his oldest and often favorite grandson back home, had still not opened, the blonde had too much free time on his hands and insisted upon spending it with his only sibling. The comic book enthusiast was about to go out of his mind, and, on top of everything else, he was still worried about his brother, the number he had gotten off his cell phone singed into his brain and permanently rendering him in mental and emotional disarray.

But, instead of thinking about Ryan's problems, instead of obsessing over whether or not he should call New York, call that number that his best friend had ignored, and instead of worrying about the consequences of his actions if he did decide to go behind his brother's back, Seth was playing video games that evening - hours upon hours of mindless, entertaining video games, and, damn, if it didn't feel good.

"So, tell me what's wrong with your brother."

"Grandpa," the curly haired brunette exclaimed, practically jumping from his place on the floor before the TV. So lost in thought, he hadn't heard the balding, older man come into the poolhouse, let alone the house, and he had been caught off guard by his sudden intrusion upon his alone time and his demands. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing here," the business mogul snapped. Waving towards the television, he instructed, "turn this garbage off. It's only going to rot what little few brain cells you have left. I blame that on your father, by the way. Between his penchant for grass and his enabling parenting skills, it's no wonder you turned out to be such a disappointment."

"I love you, too, old man." Turning back to the screen, Seth unpaused the game, handing his grandfather a remote control, and started to reprogram the device so that two people could play. "Listen, you came into my poolhouse, so, if you want to talk to me, if you want to ask me questions about Ryan, you're going to have to abide by my rules."

"And what would those happen to be?"

"No talking occurs within these sacred walls unless those involved in the discussion are also, at the same time, focused upon a video game of my choosing. So, stretch those thumbs, Gramps, because you're about to get your ass kicked."

Surprising him, the older gentleman didn't object. Instead, he simply did what he was told, and the fact that he didn't put up an argument told the young freeloader that the real estate tycoon was seriously concerned about Ryan, so he took pity upon him and decided to open up and confess as much of the truth as he felt comfortable sharing. While not wanting to break his promise to his brother, he also wanted to ensure the old man that the doctor they both cared deeply for would be alright given time and the proper space to heal his wounded heart and pride.

Sighing, he began, "so, how much do you know about his life these last few months?"

"Not much at all, why," Caleb asked, his brow furrowed in both concentration and worry. "You know damn well that Ryan doesn't like to open up to anyone, least of all me. He sees it as a weakness, and, normally, I would agree with him. That's why we get along so well; we're too much alike, but even I can admit that sometimes a man needs to clear the air, get what's bothering him off of his chest."

"I see," the younger man mused, deciding he needed to lighten the atmosphere some by taunting his grandfather. "So you support the idea of metrosexuals waxing their pecs?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Seth? We're supposed to be discussing your brother."

"Just the topic I myself wanted to speak to him about," Sandy announced, stepping foot into the poolhouse. Collapsing down beside his brunette son, he requested, "hand me over one of those controllers and restart this thing. I know the rules."

Rolling his eyes, the youngest of the three men obliged, knowing full well that protesting was futile. So much for a relaxing night alone. Nothing he had planned was working out.

Standing up from her seat on the oceanside bench, Colleen moved to throw her takeout trash away. "Well, now, if nothing else, I can at least understand your reasoning for taking me to the carnival. Because your plans with this other woman..."

"Marissa," Ryan supplied her name, his lips curling up almost bitterly as he said it.

"With Marissa didn't work out," she finished her thought, "you tried to erase the memory by taking me to a fair instead." Shrugging her shoulders, she asked for more information. "So, then what happened?"

The blonde stood up, positioning himself at her side as they slowly made their way back towards his parked car. With his hands shoved into his pockets, he began, "actually, not much. Just when I thought we were growing closer, she would pull away, go back to her boyfriend." Although the young woman could tell he was purposely leaving key portions of the story out for her and being vague, the pain he had suffered at the hands of the girl he had left behind in New York was evident. "Then, the next thing I know, they're engaged, we had a fight, and, before I can even digest that, she shows up at my door, and we..."

"You slept together."

"Yeah," the physician admitted, sighing almost wistfully. The wide range of spectrum his emotions ran through while he discussed Marissa was quite telling, alerting the bobbed brunette to the fact that he was still very much in love with the other woman, no matter what he claimed or denied. "But I thought it meant something, you know, that she had finally decided to be with me."

"But she went back to the boyfriend again?"

"Yeah, no, actually," Ryan confessed, "I'm not sure what she did. One minute she was there, with me, and, the next, I woke up, and she was gone. No note, no message, nothing. I have no idea where she went, but there was a message on my machine from my grandfather, offering me an opportunity to come back home to work here, and, without much thought to it, I accepted. Two weeks later, I was done with New York and back in California where I spent the first eighteen years of my life. As for Marissa," he glanced away, but she followed his gaze and noticed that it landed upon a sad, almost haunted looking blonde who was there at the beach with her small child. Colleen found herself wondering just how much about the stranger reminded her date of the one he had left behind.

She only had a moment to decide what she wanted to do. She could either end their night out right there, decline a ride home, and catch a cab back to her modest apartment, or she could take him somewhere that would tell him something about her own personality, in a way getting to know him better as she introduced him to the real Colleen. And she was torn. On one hand, he really was a great guy, someone she could find herself falling for if given a real chance, but, on the other hand, it was beyond obvious that he wasn't ready for more than just a friendship. But she was lonely, and it had been almost a year since she had felt so excited by a man, so, taking a chance, she entwined their hands together and moved closer to him as they walked down the boardwalk.

"Let's have some fun," the twenty-five year old insisted, smiling widely towards the doctor. "And I promise, if nothing else, what I have in mind will definitely clear your head. Are you game?"

His only response was to break out in a run, pulling her along with him towards his car.

"Wait, wait, wait," Kirsten insisted as she ran into the poolhouse, her healed dress shoes from work sounding out her arrival. "Don't start yet without me."

Seth glared at his third and hopefully last intruder, mumbling under his breath at the unfairness of it all, but, without actually saying a word, he literally tossed the still attractive blonde a game controller as she sat down crossed legged beside her father, restarted the PS3 again, and waited for all three older adults around him to get settled in. If he was going to have to perform this delicate tapdance of confession while still withholding enough information to keep his word to his only sibling, than he was only going to do it once, and he was going to make damn sure the television was up loud enough to potentially distract his parents and grandfather.

Kirsten was the first to demand information. "It was a girl, wasn't it?"

"Well it sure as hell wasn't a man," Caleb interjected. The other three members of the party simply rolled their eyes at the older man's outburst.

"Son," Sandy coerced. "Just tell us what happened. We care about Ryan just as much as you do, and all we want is for him to be happy. How can we help him if we don't know what's wrong?"

"There's really not much to tell," the curly haired brunette confessed, thoroughly beating the pants off of his three elders but they, stupidly, didn't seem to care that they were all floundering poorly still back at the starting line. "In fact, he's barely confided in me."

"Oh, I highly doubt that," his mother argued, staring in confusion down at her controller. "You two have been practically inseparable these past four weeks. Are you going to tell me that you haven't spent all that time talking?"

"Actually, yes, I am."

"Oh, baloney."

"Baloney," Seth parroted, turning briefly to gape at his grandfather while, simultaneously, pausing the game. "Who in the hell says that anymore?"

"Hey," Sandy complained, knocking his controller against the floor. "Why isn't this thing working anymore; did I win?"

"No, father, you'd have to figure out how to move your man first in order to actually win! That's it," he exploded, standing up and quickly shutting off the tv. "You guys are a bunch of incompetents. I can't do this. As for Ryan, yeah, it was about a girl. He got his heart stomped on, but there were extenuating circumstances, ones I personally think he should have been more sensitive towards, but it doesn't matter now. He's out on a date, he's trying to move past what happened in New York, and, if you want him happy, just give him some space and some time to sort all of this out on his own, Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going out. While I'm gone, Gramps, maybe you should get on your cell phone, call your broker, and see if you could invest in buying the three of you a clue."

Glancing around the room at their overwhelmed faces, Seth threw up his hands in frustration. "Ugh," he groaned before stomping out of the poolhouse. That - they - was exactly the reason why he was trying so hard to never truly become an adult.

"You want me to try rock climbing?"

Colleen almost giggled at the blanched expression on her date's face. "It's not a real rock. Why," she teased him, "are you afraid of heights?"

"Actually," the medical profession admitted, swallowing roughly. "I am."

"Oh."

"But you didn't know that," Ryan quickly assured her before another stretch of awkward silence could fall between them. "And I'm sure most people would have fun holding on to tiny grips while suspended fifty feet in the air, but, if I go up there, it won't be pretty."

Disbelief tinged her next question. "You're really afraid of heights?"

"Desperately."

"Wow," the actress sighed, collapsing down onto the mat underneath them. Ryan soon followed. "That really limits the things we could potentially have in common. I'm kind of an adrenaline junkie," she admitted, looking wistfully up at the rock wall. "Rock climbing, base jumping, skydiving, paragliding, you name it; I've done it. It started out as simply a way to keep in shape. Because I want to work in television, I kind of have to make sure I stay pretty trim and toned, but I got bored with regular gym workouts, so I tried something a little more extreme and got hooked. About the safest thing I do is kickboxing."

"So, basically, you're saying that you could kick my ass," the doctor realized, grinning ruefully.

"Only if crossed," she assured him, her merry hazel eyes dancing with mirth. "If you want, I could give you some lessons."

Standing up, Ryan held out a hand for her and helped her to her feet. As they walked back towards the dressing rooms, he suggested, "what do you say we save that for the second date?"

"You want to go out with me again?"

He glanced around playfully, pretending to be looking for someone. "Do you see anyone else..."

"Alright, alright, smartass," Colleen agreed, shaking her head in amusement. "You have yourself a deal. But be ready, because I'm not going to take it easy on you."

"I would expect nothing less."

As they parted ways to change back into their regular clothes so Ryan could take her home, the twenty-five year old found herself smiling the entire time. While it certainly wasn't the most conventional or even the best first date she had ever had, it did have its high points, and, if nothing else, they were going to have another chance to get things right. Things certainly could have gone worse.

Like the Wizard of Oz, Marissa stood behind a curtain, proclaiming orders but never revealing herself. At first, Summer had been amused, the stunt reminding her of one of her favorite childhood movies and why she had always loved ostentatious shoes, but quickly its appeal waned. Not only did she feel like a personal assistant, but she wasn't even benefitting from the treatment. She would run, gather more dresses, and Marissa would, she hoped, try them on, but her friend would never pull the curtain back to reveal to the brunette how the dresses looked. So, in essence, she was shopping blindly, and where's the fun in that?

Several times she had attempted to simply intrude upon the blonde, but her hands had been slapped away when she reached in to peel the curtain back, her body had been forcefully shoved aside when she had tried to squeeze inside the little cubicle without Marissa seeing her, and she had even been yelled at when she became petulant and demanded entrance. Of all the personal affronts she had suffered through, the last one had been the worst.

Physically, she'd battle anyone. In fact, it made her feel as if she was finally getting to roughhouse with a sibling. As an only child, she had missed out on the acceptable and sometimes even necessary fisticuffs brothers and sisters engage in to settle petty differences between one another, but yelling was a whole other matter. Because she was her father's pride and joy, his voice had never been raised towards her during the entire nineteen years that she had lived with him before going away to college, and, even to that day, someone screaming at her upset Summer. It was just the way she worked.

However, instead of becoming sad or even embarrassed by the soon-to-be journalist's behavior, she got annoyed, and nothing was quite as tempestuous as Summer Roberts when her tail feathers had been ruffled. She was literally a force to be reckoned with. One way or another, she was going to get inside the dressing room her friend was using. There was just no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

In attempt to lull the blonde into a false sense of modesty and security, she asked, "so tell me about the dress you're trying on right now. What kind of cut is it?"

"Uh... sleeveless."

"Really?" Her curiosity had been peaked.

As she always dressed, Summer had assumed that the future bride would wear her traditional look, one that could only be described as full coverage. With sleeves as her trademark, she had figured their only options would be winter gowns, and, though Marissa, as always, would look lovely in anything, as a stylist, the shorter woman had an ingrained sense of distrust and even abhorrence towards lace. She knew it had been a fashion staple for centuries, millenniums even, but, in her opinion, time meant change, and change in association with a wedding meant no more lace. Simplistic elegance was always a better motto, she thought, and she hoped to instill that idea into her friend.

So, with hope, she pressed, "does that mean you're thinking of having a summer wedding?"

"Well," Marissa confessed, "the weather is more stable during that time of the year, but summer weddings do seem rather cliche to me, don't you think?"

Although the blonde couldn't see her, the creative director nodded her head in concurrence. "What about an early fall wedding? If we're lucky, the weather will hold out, but then you get to do something a little less traditional, and the colors during that time of year are so vibrant, so rich. It could be beautiful."

The only response she received was a non-committal um-hm.

If she didn't know better, Summer would almost think that her friend was having second thoughts. Even with three weeks going past, she still hadn't been able to get a straight answer out of her about what she wanted, whether her heart truly was with her fiancée or whether it was out of the city, and, as far as they knew, out of her life for good. In fact, the fledgling reporter had been out of work for over a week after the incident at the apartment building, and, when she returned, she had been mum about her absence and even more closed off about anything associated with her personal life. The only thing she would discuss was the wedding, and the stylist had a feeling her friend's interest in the event had more to do with it being a distraction than anything else.

Clearing her mind of thoughts she wouldn't receive an answer to, at least not that afternoon, Summer refocused herself on the task at hand. "I think going with a strapless gown is an ingenious idea. No one will be expecting it from you, so, when you show up with your arms and shoulders bare, those fashion critics and reporters are just going to lose it. It's going to be the talk of the day. Even if you run out of the ceremony, no one will care." Laughing softly at her own idea, the brunette silently prayed to the gods of haute couture and peaked just one eye through a tiny crack of the dressing room curtain. What she saw made her freeze, a desperate, almost palpable chill running down her spine.

"Oh my god."

Instantly, Marissa turned on her, the blonde's striking blue eyes flashing with resentment, fear, and even a touch of embarrassment, as if she had anything to feel ashamed about. "I thought I told you to stay out."

"I was just... What happened to your shoulder?" When her friend refused to answer and simply started to gather her things to leave the dressing room, the partially zipped wedding dress still on her, Summer pushed. "Did... did Tanner do that to you? Have you seen a doctor, because I really think you need to?"

"What I need is for people to mind their own business," the engaged woman hissed. As she tried to force her way past the creative director, Summer held her ground, not letting the taller woman through. In the process, the blonde's injured shoulder hit against the wall. Immediately, she fell to the floor, reaching for the hideously bruised flesh, sobbing and rocking back and forth in what could only be construed as both physical and emotional pain.

"Listen," the brunette tried to sooth her, crumbling down to sit beside the soon-to-be journalist. "Let me help you, okay? I'll take you to my doctor. She's kind, she's good at what she does, and, from what I can tell, this is going to be the most important thing for you, she's discreet. If you don't want to tell us what really happened, you won't have to. I just want to get that shoulder looked at. It almost looks like it's out of place, but you couldn't be walking around like..."

Her words trailed off as Marissa's tear soaked countenance lifted to confront her own. With just a single glance into the other woman's face, Summer knew her friend indeed did have a dislocated shoulder, and she found herself wondering if that was the reason why she hadn't come to work for over a week. But, as soon as the thought struck her, she immediately tried to dismiss it. After all, how could anyone live with that much pain for so long; how could someone who professed to love Marissa allow her to suffer like that as Tanner would have had to have done if she had been injured for three weeks... unless, as she had previously suspected, he was the one to injure her in the first place.

As she gathered her friend and helped lift her, she chatted incessantly about random, harmless, sometimes even comical things. She told her about how she had fallen off her first bike... even with the training wheels still on it... when she was four and how, subsequently, she had broken her wrist. Not only was that the last broken bone she had ever had, but it was almost the first and last time she ever found herself on a bike.

While they continued to work slowly, taking off the wedding gown and putting Marissa's own clothes back on her, the stylist tried to keep her eyes off the various markings marring her friend's otherwise beautiful skin. It was a map of continual abuse, old scars and fresh wounds, that told the story of a life so horrendous she didn't even want to consider it.

Eventually, they were ready to leave, and they did. Walking slowly out of the front door of the bridal boutique, Summer hailed a cab, promising herself that would be the very last time she and Marissa Cooper ever went wedding dress shopping for a wedding she would be damned sure never happened. If one thing was made crystal clear that afternoon, her friend would not be marrying Tanner Meriden, no matter what she had to do.

She really had missed her calling. If she had known her penchant for pretending, she would have pursued a career in the movies or even on the stage, becoming the next great American ingenue, but, unfortunately, she had been too cool to try theater in high school, so never had her acting chops been discovered. Hell, if nothing else, she could have gone to law school, impressed her father, earned more money, and gotten to perform on a daily basis inside a courtroom, twisting around the truth to create a play of her own, wowing the crowd - a.k.a., the jury - with her moving accounts and dramatic monologues, but, alas that ship had sailed, and she would have to limit her performances to moments of delicacy where lies needed to be utilized.

When questioned about her injury, Marissa had simply remained seated, avoiding eye contact with Summer's doctor and refusing to say a word. Jumping in, the brunette had offered an explanation only her friend, in her state of turmoil and pain, could believe. She had told the doctor that they had been jogging in the park, and, when she had accidentally gotten tripped in her own laces, she had fallen into Marissa who softened the brunette's own fall but, unfortunately, landed hard against a fountain with her shoulder. The physician had rolled her eyes and mocking stated that she had no idea Summer enjoyed such vigorous, outdoor activities.

But, nevertheless, she had seen to the blonde's injuries, excusing Summer for a moment while she popped the shoulder back into place. She could hear the future journalist's cries and screams of sheer misery from out in the waiting room, and her resolve strengthened. Going back into the exam room, she found her friend curled up on the table in a fetal position while the general practitioner made notes in Marissa's chart. Wordlessly, she communicated that they needed a full work up, and the medical professional had set to work, calling in a nurse to take a blood test which would be rushed for as many results as they could possibly receive during the visit. The STD results would take longer, but, at that point, after seeing the patient close up, both Summer and the doctor were more worried about immediate concerns than long term ones.

So, she sat, waiting. Not sure if Marissa was asleep or just locked inside of herself, the brunette didn't say anything, allowing a disheartening silence to fall between them. The pieces of the puzzle were slowing falling into place for her; she was realizing why Marissa's life was so complicated. She was being abused, and nothing, once that started, could be simple ever again. Her relationship with Ryan had been shadowed the entire time by her fear of Tanner and no doubt hampered by the vile lies he had been feeding her for so many years to make the blonde's self-esteem and self-image so low. And that wasn't even taking into consideration Marissa's past and her relationship with her family, for Summer had never met nor even heard of her friend's childhood, and she wondered if that, too, played a role in making her stay with a man who so cruelly beat her.

"Miss Cooper," the doctor returned, interrupting her thoughts. "While we're still running some more tests, one thing has already come back, and I wanted to speak with you about it right away."

Marissa never said a word, just sat up partially and nodded for the physician to continue.

"Did you know that you were pregnant?"

The next few moments went by like a blur for Summer. That had been the very last news she had been expecting, and, she feared, it was the very last news her friend needed at the moment, for it was just one more complication in an already overly complicated situation. Dazed, her body moved without conscious decision or thought. When the doctor asked for her assistance, she stood beside Marissa and helped hold her down while the medical professional injected her with a sedative. She watched helplessly as the blonde was restrained, eventually falling into a quiet, unobtrusive sob. Eventually, the doctor and the nursing staff left the room, allowing them a moment of peace, and, once they were gone, Summer could hear her friend's continuous chanting.

"I want Ryan," she begged, gently rocking herself back and forth, her arms clutched over her stomach as if she was trying to hold herself together. "I want Ryan; I need Ryan."

But Summer feared he didn't want or need her in return anymore. Dutifully, though, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed the number she had been trying to reach for weeks. However, instead of the voice mail she had been used to reaching or even a busy signal, what she got made her sigh in dejection. An automatic recording by a telephone operator informed her that the number she was trying to reach had either been disconnected or was no longer in service.

She had no idea what to do next.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

It was amazing what a person could do with a wireless compatible laptop, a few hours, and several bags of sunflower seeds. While Ryan Atwood might not have wanted anyone to be able to find him, in the modern day and age, obscurity was easier said than actually achieved. Even though he had fled thousands of miles away from New York City, for Summer, he was only a point, click, and then a dial from getting dragged back into the life he was attempting to hide from. 

The drugs the doctor had administered to Marissa had worked quickly, knocking her out and leaving her unconscious. Reassured that her friend would be taken care of if left alone, the brunette stylist had gone straight home to her apartment to get online, googling and searching her way through newspaper articles and databases in order to find the man she was looking for. It was amazing what a person could find about someone else on the internet. 

She now knew all about Ryan's adoption, and, though the records regarding his case were sealed because, obviously, he was a minor at the time, there was enough speculation in several newspaper articles that gave her insight into the stranger's past. It appeared as if he had been a child from an abusive home, and she found herself wondering if it was just a simple case of the present mirroring the past or if Ryan was thrust into Marissa's life for a more specific reason. After all, who better to sympathize and understand what the blonde was going through than a man who had already witnessed someone else he cared for getting abused? 

At the same time, though, the estimated revelation told her exactly why Ryan might have fled back to the safety of his childhood home, but, even though she understood his hesitancy to put himself in the position again to watch a loved one willingly allow someone else to hurt them, she couldn't stand back and allow Marissa to be alone, especially now that there was a child involved. It didn't matter that the baby was conceived after Ryan had flown the coup back to California, and it didn't matter that the baby was Tanner's. What mattered was the fact that her friend was expecting a baby with her abusive fiancé, a man who, in all likelihood, wouldn't want the child, and, other than Summer, she was all alone. Besides, Marissa didn't want her comfort; she wanted Ryan's, the man she was in love with, the man she was probably wishing would stand by her side throughout her pregnancy, the man she was probably dreaming of in the role of her child's father. 

So, while Summer could appreciate and even empathize with the stranger's decisions, she couldn't shelter and protect both of them, and, of the two of them, Marissa needed her support and dedication more. Her very life depended upon it. With decision made, she took a deep, cleansing breath, centering herself before she dialed the number before her. It was the number to the Cohen family residence, the family that had adopted Ryan Atwood as a child, the family who, she hoped, would lead her to the man she was looking for. 

It took only one ring for someone to pick up. "Cohen's Cottage of Concubines and Courtesans. How may we serve you?"

For the first time in her life, she had no idea how to react. When her father had carefully announced to her when she was eight that her mom was leaving them, she had asked if she could move her things into her mother's bathroom. After all, it was bigger and more luxurious. When her first boyfriend in middle school whispered in her ear one night that he thought he might be gay, she had shoved him off the bed, kicking him where the sun _never_shines. And, when her freshman advisor in college tried to pick her up, she had deftly 

informed him that if she had a Daddy complex, which she didn't, she sure as hell wouldn't be interested in his poor, fat ass. 

However, when she heard the words concubine and courtesan spew forth from the mouth of a perfect stranger, she was lost. Words had no means of finding their way towards her lips; her mind couldn't even conjure up any pity towards Marissa if this immature literary nerd with a penchant for alliteration was her Prince Charming. In fact, it even took her several beats before she realized that she wanted to reach through the phone, wrap her elegant, perfectly proportioned hands around the man's neck, and strangle the very life out of him. But, sadly, technology hadn't advanced to that point yet, so she was left with only one option: threats of physical violence.

"Listen up, geek," she forewarned her phone companion. "If the day ever comes when we meet face to face, you better turn tail and run, because, at the very first chance I get, I'm going to inflict more pain upon you than your measly little imagination has ever been able to summon up in any of your kinky, pre-pubescent wet dreams. Do I make myself clear?"

But the man didn't respond. He ignored her threats, there was no sound of panic in his steady, almost infuriatingly bored breathing, and she mourned the lack of reaction. Normally, she was capable of putting the fear of god or Buddha or Allah or whoever into those she yelled at over the phone, but, for some reason unknown to the petite brunette, this man, this stranger was oddly immune to her wrath, and it was quite befuddling. She had no idea how to progress. 

Shyly, almost doubtfully, he asked of her, "Marissa?"

Well, at least this oh so stellar example of a dork wasn't Ryan, Summer was reassured. Instead of saying that, though, she lashed out, "of course not, Asshat." But she didn't reveal her own identity either. "And who exactly are you?"

"Seeing as how you called me, don't you think you should admit your name first?"

"Uh, no."

"Very well then," the stranger mused thoughtfully. "Then it appears as if we're in a stalemate."

"No, we're not," the creative director argued. Summoning every single ounce of her authority, she pressed on. "We're not playing those games. I called for a reason, and I need to speak to Ryan Atwood. Now, either put him on the phone or tell me where I can find him."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," the man announced, the note of mocking sincerity in his voice making her cringe with annoyance. "Our mother always taught us not to talk to strangers."

Mumbling under her breath, Summer terrorized, "well, if you don't tell me what I want to know and fast, then you won't be talking at all, dweeb."

"There's no reason to resort to name calling, now."

"Listen," she exploded, the tone of warning her words held leaving no room for argument. "This potentially could be a matter of life or death. I don't think you realize just how important it is for me to speak with your brother, and, while I might not be Marissa myself, 

I do know her, and this is about her, and, since you automatically jumped to the conclusion that a woman calling from a New York area code would be Marissa, then I assume you're familiar with who she is and how she's important to Ryan."

Somberly, almost fearfully, the stranger inquired, "what did he do to her?"

"Excuse me?"

And, just like that, all harshness from their previous back and forth bickering disappeared. 

"Tanner," the man pressed. "You said this was life or death and that it involved Marissa, so, to me, that means that Tanner, her fiancé, did something to her. What was it?"

"Well, he dislocated her shoulder, but that's not why I'm calling." Stalling for a moment, Summer couldn't believe herself when she simply blurted out her next piece of information. It was supposed to be a secret, and she didn't even know the person she was talking to, but, for some reason, she found herself trusting him with a fact that had the potential of completely blowing up several lives. "She's pregnant."

"Is it…"

"No," the stylist was quick to inform him. "The baby's not Ryan's."

"So, then, it's Tanner's," the stranger surmised. "And I think we both know how dangerous of a situation that's going to be."

"Exactly."

"Where does my brother come into play with all this?"

"Marissa's asking for him," Summer confessed easily. Once she opened up to the man, she found it quite painless to talk to him… despite their rather frustrating start to the conversation. "No, I take that back. It's more like she's begging for him, and I'm not sure if she'll be able to survive this, survive Tanner, without Ryan by her side."

"But would he make it out of the situation intact if he were to fly back to New York to help her?" Although it was a rhetorical question, neither of them knew the answer. "Look, I'm going to play it straight with you…"

"I'd appreciate that," the tiny brunette acknowledged.

"Ryan's trying to move on. He's dating someone, he's opening up a private practice with our grandfather's help, and he won't even let anyone bring up a single topic related to or sounding like the name Marissa. Do you know how hard it is to cut out every single word that starts with the letter M, especially when you still live with your Mom?"

"What the hell? Aren't you like… twenty-eight or something?"

"Are you stalking me?"

She could tell by the tone of his voice that the idea appealed to him. "Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you, nerd," Summer challenged. "But dream on. I did a general search for your 

brother online, and there just happened to be a few articles about him that mentioned your lame ass, too."

"I don't know," the stranger sounded almost reflective. "I've always kind of liked my ass. It's… cute."

Ignoring the comment, the stylist merely snorted in disbelief. "Anyway, will you help me with Ryan? Will you give me his number so I can get in touch with him?"

"No can do, pretty lady," he replied, sounding almost regretful. "If he sees your number, he'll ignore it, and, even if you block your number so it doesn't show up on the caller ID screen, he still won't answer the call. I guess I'll just have to risk my own life and talk to him myself."

"Well, if you don't, I'll kill you myself."

"Yeah, but, with you," the man pointed out saucily, "I'd think it'd be much kinkier."

"Goodbye," Summer announced effectively, moving to hang up the phone. "I need to go pick Marissa up at the doctor's. She was little out of control, so they had to give her a sedative, but she'll be waking up soon, and she'll need help getting home." As a parting shot, she offered him, "and don't ever call this number."

Turning the phone off, she realized she never thanked him for his sometimes reluctant and always exasperating help, but, then again, the creative director had a feeling it wouldn't be the last time she talked to the twenty-eight year old, so it really didn't matter. Picking up her purse, she left her apartment again, locking the door on her way out… just to be safe.

"Alright, listen. I've gotta go. I'm at work, and my grandfather's waiting for me. We're going over business plans today, and I don't want to leave him waiting. But I'll see you tonight, right," Ryan asked Colleen over the phone as he let himself into Caleb's office. The lights were dimmed, the blinds were closed, and the entire cavernous space was quiet, allowing him to hope that the older man himself was running late that morning. After listening to his girlfriend of three week's response, he flipped his cell closed only to whirl around and face the rather unimpressed and displeased countenance of his boss, friend, and grandfather. 

"Oh," he remarked rather ineptly. "I didn't know…"

"There's no reason to state the obvious," Caleb retorted quickly, interrupting him. "I think it's quite apparent that there are several things you don't know about."

"And I have a feeling this has nothing to do with me not realizing that you were already here, waiting for me."

"You've always been an intelligent young man," the real estate mogul motioned for him to take a seat before him, and Ryan complied. "There's no reason for that to all of a sudden change now."

"Then what is this about," the doctor asked pointedly. Nodding towards the phone he still had clutched in his hand, he inquired, "if this is about my dating, don't worry. It won't affect my work."

"A man's personal life always interferes with his professional one. If yours didn't, you wouldn't be human. However, I didn't want to talk to you about the new practice today, Ryan; I asked you here to discuss something else." Before the younger man could interject, he pressed on. "Does it have something to do with the phone call you just ended? Partly, yes," the elderly man confessed, "but only in connection." Looking his adopted grandson in the eye, the grandson who, even though they weren't related by blood, was by far more like him both physically and mentally than Seth, he admitted, "I know." And both of them knew exactly what he was talking about. 

"How?"

"Ever since you got back home, it's been obvious that something was wrong. Three weeks ago, Seth confirmed that when he confessed your strange, melancholic behavior was due to a woman, not that his little piece of information took me by surprise. Women have the tendency and the ability to mess with a man's head like nothing else can. Now," he beseeched the younger man, "don't be mad at your brother. He told us just enough information to escape our grilling session before literally running away from us. From there, I took it upon myself to learn exactly what was going on with you."

"So, basically," Ryan accused him, "you had me investigated."

Sighing, Caleb acquiesced. "I guess you could call it that."

The physician exploded. "You had no right!" Pointing an infuriated, accusing finger towards his grandfather, he continued. "If I wanted you to know about what happened in New York, I would have told you myself!"

"Do not tell me what I am and am not allowed to do," the businessman fired back just as angry. "You are my family, and families take care of their own. If I was going to protect you, if I was going to help you, then I needed to know the whole truth, and you sure as hell weren't being forthcoming. So, yes, I hired a private investigator. He found out all about you and this Marissa woman you've been somewhat seeing for the past couple of months, but, more importantly," he explained, leveling out his voice and his temper, knowing that at least one of them needed to be calm when he announced his next piece of information, "he also found out everything and anything you could ever want to know about or use against Tanner Meriden."

Standing up, Ryan began to pace the length of the older man's office, rubbing distractedly at the tension which had, all of a sudden, flowed into the back of his neck. "I can't believe this is happening," he mumbled to himself. Glancing over at his grandfather, he saw him pull forth a bulging file, its seams practically ripping, and he could only imagine what type of facts and horror stories he would read about Marissa's fiancé if he were to open the folder.

"I don't want to see that."

"Don't be a damn fool, son," Caleb retorted harshly. "You can stand there and deny that you're in love with the girl you left behind in New York, and you can get back on your phone and sit in my office all day long and coo at your new girlfriend, but you have to know that neither of us is going to buy either action as the truth. You're not going to be able to stand by and do nothing to help Marissa just as I was not able to stand by and do nothing to help you. What I'm holding here," he told him, dropping the heavy file onto the top of his desk, 

"is enough to ruin Tanner Meriden's life. He'll be stripped of his job and, chances are, thrown into jail for a very long time if you put this information to good use."

"She made her choice," the blonde stated, backing out of the real estate executive's office and holding his hands up as if he were physically washing himself of his former flame. "And if I know anything about an abusive relationship, it's that you can't help someone until they want to help themselves. So, get rid of your information; throw it all away," he instructed his grandfather. "I want nothing to do with it."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that."

"Then I'll do it for you," Ryan declared, striding across the room only to lift up the dossier and throw it into the trash. "There," he announced, dusting his hands off on his jeans. "That's done, but don't you ever come to me with this information again, and don't you ever mention her name in my vicinity again either. Do we understand each other?"

"No, we don't," the older man argued, sitting back in his leather chair and eyeing his grandson. "But don't worry. I won't bother you with this anymore."

Stalking out of the office, Ryan tried to ignore his grandfather's words, tried to push away all the thoughts of Marissa and his feelings for her that the meeting had, once again, brought back up to the forefront for him, and, while nothing seemed to work and while he couldn't forget, he was determined to move forward no matter how many doubts he had or how unfair his actions were to everyone involved.

"Okay, screw planning a wedding or getting a job promotion," Summer announced as she used her friend's keys to let her into the penthouse. "This has to be the most exciting thing EVER!"

Marissa sighed, smiling softly to herself. "It is pretty amazing, isn't it?" In that moment, everything else was far from her mind. She was still pleasantly buzzed from the sedative she had received at the doctor's office, and the fact that her baby was conceived through rape and not love was completely overshadowed by the knowledge that, for the first time in her life, she had someone she could love unconditionally with no strings attached and that the person would love her back in the same exact way. 

Her child would depend upon her, trust her, believe in her, and admire her solely for the fact that she had given it life and cherished it. Boy or girl, it didn't matter, and it felt as if she was being given a whole new lease on life. Suddenly, she didn't feel as useless, and she knew what her purpose was. She was alive to take care of and love the baby growing inside her, and nothing else mattered – not her mother and sister, not Ryan leaving her, not her lack of success. When there was a will, there was a way. Thousands of women, poor women like her, gave birth every day, and, if they could do it, then so could she. Plus, they didn't have the force of nature named Summer Roberts at their side, pledging and pleading for the chance to help. In that moment, she realized that she was just as enthusiastic about her upcoming motherhood as her friend was.

"There's just so much to do," the brunette beside her continued as she led her into the apartment. "I have a shower to plan, and, of course, there's tons of shopping ahead of us."

"Wait a minute, slow down," Marissa begged. "I'm just a few weeks along. We're not buying anything until after my first trimester, because I don't want to jinx anything, and, even once I'm past that mark, we're not going crazy with the credit cards. I barely make enough money to take care of myself, let alone a baby. We're going to have to hit sales and maybe even second hand stores."

The stylist looked at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads. "Are you crazy?"

"I've considered it a time or two. Why?"

"This is your first foray into motherhood…"

"You make it sound like this is going to become a hobby, Summer."

"Well, you never know," the brunette teased, giggling. "What I meant was that you have to do this right. There's not going to be any scrimping and saving. What you can't afford yourself, I'll get my Dad to pay for."

"Yeah, that's not going to happen," Marissa argued. 

"Okay, fine," her friend huffed, rolling her eyes with shopping frustration, but, then, she seemed to have a burst of inspiration. "No, wait," she instructed. "You'll just have to be able to purchase the fabric, and I'll even chip in some from my collection at home. I can make your daughter all the clothes she'll ever need, and, that way, they can all be designer originals. Talk about a classy, well dressed baby."

The blonde laughed, enjoying the sheer joy and wonder discussing her unborn child brought to her. "I think you're putting the cart ahead of the horse there, Sum. You're already assuming this baby is going to be a girl?"

"Of course," the creative director flippantly remarked as if there wasn't even another option. "Boys are icky, so you'll definitely have a girl."

"Whatever you say."

"Now that's what I want to here," the shorter of the two women shouted, clapping happily. "Anyway," she changed the subject discontentedly. "I've really got to get going. Duty calls. I'll pick you up Monday morning bright and early for your first official doctor's appointment, and then we'll go into work together." As she was leaving, the brunette added over her shoulder, "oh, and don't forget to take your prenatal vitamins. They're important."

"I won't," Marissa returned reassuringly, chuckling at her friend's never ending supply of energy. Just thinking about everything she had to do, about everything she had to face that weekend made her tired, and all she really wanted to do was curl up in bed and take a nice, long, rejuvenating nap. In fact, she could practically feel herself falling asleep as she made her way towards the bedroom, and the soon-to-be young mother decided to allow herself the rest. After all, if her body needed it, then she was going to listen to her instincts. Besides, Tanner was at work even though it was a Saturday, so she had plenty of time that afternoon to be by herself and to get things accomplished before he returned. A short, inconsequential catnap wouldn't matter or interfere. 

"That was quite the interesting conversation I just overheard."

Spinning around, her hands clenched to her chest in a startled manner, the communications employee found her fiancé lounged portentously up against a wall, his legs crossed out before him and his arms hanging causally at his sides. But it was his eyes that told her how angry he was, how desperate. Twin flames of rage, they burned through her, making the frail, pregnant blonde gasp in fright. 

"Wha… what are you doing here, Tanner?"

"I live here," he replied glibly. Pushing himself off of the wall, he advanced towards her, smirking. "This is my penthouse, my home. I paid for it. You simply reside here because I allow you to. But that's not what you meant, was it, Marissa," he practically taunted, his slow but steady steps forcing her to scramble backwards as she sought escape. "You meant to ask me why I wasn't at work like I told you I'd be, right, and that's exactly why you'll never make it as a journalist. You never manage to say or do the right thing."

Instead of responding, instead of baiting him, she simply waited for him to continue, her heart feeling as if it could pound right out of her chest, her eyes scrambling for something, anything she could use to defend herself. But there was nothing. Like always, the penthouse was impeccable. Sparsely decorated and perfectly clean, there was nothing within easy reach for her to grab, nothing available for her to pick up and hit or poke or stab her fiancé with as she tried to get away from him. Her only option was flight, but, despite knowing that fact, she couldn't turn around and simply run from Tanner. Her feet felt frozen, almost numb, and all she could do was continue to shuffle her way out of the bedroom, the father of her child ever looming menacingly in front of her retreating form. 

"I got a call while I was at work," he finally explained. "Someone saw you going into a doctor's office with Summer, and, of course, I was worried about you, sweetheart."

"Of course," she automatically agreed with him, neither willing to rock the boat or offer up any other information. 

"So I rushed right home," Tanner continued, "just as my bosses expected me to. They told me to take the rest of the weekend off, and, if that wasn't enough time, to just let them know, and it would be fine with them if I had to miss my trip to Thailand next week. I told them not to worry, that such drastic measures would not be needed."

"They won't be."

"And now that I know what's wrong, I'm glad to see that I was right," he proceeded to talk. "We'll be able to take care of this little problem today."

Immediately, she felt a strength, a resolve enter her body, one she had never experienced before, straightening her back, calming her nerves, and unclenching her hands. Meeting her fiancé's gaze, Marissa declared, "I will not have an abortion."

He took a final step forward, wrapping a claw-like hand around her wrist and jerking her towards him. "You'll do whatever I tell you to."

But, still, she was calm. "No, Tanner, I won't. I want this baby. In fact, I need it, and there's nothing you can do or say that's going to make me change my mind."

"So, that's it?"

"Actually, no," the blonde continued, surprising even herself. "That's not it. I'm also leaving you."

The man across from her, the man she had spent so many horrible years with, shook his head almost as if he couldn't hear what she was saying. "Excuse me?"

"I'm moving out, and we're breaking up. The wedding's off. My baby and I don't want anything from you. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, you're not even this child's father. I'm going to raise him or her on my own. You're free of me, Tanner, just as I'm now free of you, too."

His only response was to laugh, a loud, cackling, belly laugh that sent shards of terror up her already tense back. "Oh, Marissa," he mocked, reaching up to grasp her hair in a hard fist. "It's not that simple." Throwing her to the ground, he screamed, "after all the time, and effort, and money I've put into you, do you honestly think that I'd allow you to just walk out? Do you really think that I would let you leave me? You're an incompetent fool," he spat, literally spitting on her, "but, nevertheless, you're mine. I own you," the executive declared possessively. "Hell, you're nothing but a respectable whore that I bought and paid for. Our relationship has been nothing but a business deal, and I'll be damned if I allow you to fuck the whole thing up now, after all these years.

"So, no, Marissa," he contradicted her, punctuating his words with several severe, dangerously vicious kicks to her lower abdomen. "You won't be leaving me. There will be a wedding, but you sure as hell won't be standing up in front of all my coworkers and business associates knocked up with my bastard child growing inside of you. If you won't take care of this problem voluntarily," he leaned down, gripping her chin in his right hand as he made his promise, "then I'll take care of it for you."

Pushing her face away again, he stood back up. Already in pain, already fearing for her tiny, innocent, helpless baby growing inside of her, Marissa couldn't move when she saw her fiancé raise his foot yet again to kick her. It didn't matter how much she ached to save herself and her unborn child; physically, he had already rendered her powerless. So, crying and pleading for mercy, she remained there, vulnerable to Tanner's attack while he took advantage of her helplessness. 

Over and over again, she could feel the heel of his dress shoe connecting with her still flat stomach. Eventually, the instinct to survive kicked in, and her body's awareness shut down. She could no longer sense the pain. Instead, she existed in a numbness outside of herself. While she knew what her fiancé was doing to her, and while she knew the almost inevitable consequences his actions would lead to, she held on, not for herself, not for Ryan, but for the child she was carrying. Time moved on and Tanner ceased, but it wasn't until her icy fingertips felt the sticky, warm sensation of pooling blood below them that she finally gave up, allowing her mind to slip under the waves of consciousness. For as long as she had managed to hope that her baby could still survive, she had been able to hold out, but, once that hope was gone, once there was no more reason to fight, she gave up, and, just as quickly as her will to leave had appeared, it disappeared as well.


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Hello peeps! Before we get to your regularly scheduled programming, there's something I need to discuss with you, something important. I don't think it'll come as a shock to any of you when I say that interest in R/M stories seems to be faltering and declining rapidly. And it's not just with the readers; I, too, as a writer, would much rather be penning stories for other couples, such as my current obsession Liason. To be blunt, the only reason I'm still writing for R/M is you guys – my loyal, faithful, supportive readers. Plus, I think El might lynch me if I stopped completely. :P With that said, though, my interest** is** waning quickly, and I'm going to cut back. After this story is complete, I'll be moving on to the new flash fic, and I'll probably continuing writing flash fic for a while. It's one thing to pen a short, one hour post every week, but it's a whole different story to plan out intricate, detail oriented, full length fics. I want to focus that degree of effort on my other stories. I know many of you aren't going to like this decision, but let's look at it from a different perspective as well. Someday, hopefully soon, I WILL get a real job; someone will want to hire me, and, when they do, who knows what kind of free time I'll have on my hands, and, when this does occur, I will not be focusing my extracurricular writing activities on R/M. I'll be writing for General Hospital characters and perhaps dipping my quill into other shows as well. With that said, I want to thank all of you for sticking with me all of these years, for always being there to read a chapter and to offer either praise or constructive criticism, and to thank you for, hopefully, remaining with me into the future. I'm by no means done with Ryan and Marissa yet, but they are fading from my mind slowly but surely. Also, I'm sick of writing one shots. LOL (About damn time, right?) So, although we're still currently in the middle of Will to Leave, if you're willing to vote, I'm ready to tally. Your choices for continuation are as follows: Arresting Chemistry, Gone, To Hell in an Hermes Birkin, Killing Him Softly, Party Favors, Day of a New Dawn, and Class Distinctions. You can either place your vote here or email it to me. The final tally will be counted next Friday, April 4th, and, then, the new flash fic story will be announced. Both the votes at LJ and FF will be relevant to this selection process. Happy voting! Now, without further ado and alienation, here's the next post for this ongoing story. Enjoy!_

Charlynn

**Chapter Nine**

She had never been one to have a _feeling_, to just know something to be true so deep inside of her that there was no denying the instinct's validity, but, no sooner had Summer arrived back at her own apartment, when she felt the need to see Marissa. She didn't know why, but she feared that something was wrong, and she knew that there would be no rest for her that evening unless she tried to contact her friend. So, she called her.

There was no answer on her cell phone; it went immediately to voice mail.

The land line at the apartment had simply continued to ring and ring and ring until the operator intervened and disconnected the call.

In one final, last ditch effort, she got online, emailed her friend, and then looked to see if she was chatting. Although the brunette hadn't been expecting to find Marissa lurking in cyberspace, she had hoped she would be there. But, like she had been prepared for, there was no sign of the mom-to-be.

Justifiably worried, the stylist left her home again. The only convenient aspect of the entire evening was the fact that she hadn't yet had the chance to take off her shoes, so she was already set to go. Catching a cab outside her building, she harried the driver to go faster, to pass other slow vehicles, to, in general, make the already hectic avenues and streets of New York City a virtual bedlam of chaos. Much to her chagrin but probably lucky for her life and the lives of others, he had ignored her request for speed and, ten minutes after she had first climbed into the back seat of the yellow car, had deposited her safely at the sidewalk in front of Marissa's chic Manhattan apartment building.

There were other people in the lobby when she arrived. Men and women returning from a day out in the city, kids milling about waiting for their friends to meet them so they could go out to the movies or a club or a concert, and there were also several tenants checking their mail boxes for one last pile of bills and letters, invoices and invitations before everything official, including the US Government, shut down for Sunday and a day of rest… not that many individuals, herself included, took that idea to heart themselves. It wasn't until she saw an elderly man, a man who, at the very least had to be in his late seventies if not eighties, approach the door to the stairwell that she actually took notice of any one single person in particular.

Rushing over to the gentleman, she stopped him from leaving the lobby by asking, "sir, I'm sorry to bother you, but is there something wrong with the elevators?"

"Not that I'm aware of," he answered thoughtfully, "and, as the building supervisor, I would be the first person informed if there was a problem. I just personally prefer the stairs."

"Oh," the young woman breathed out, her brow puckering with slight confusion at his confession.

"The name's Bernie," he offered her, holding out a hand.

"Summer," she returned.

"Well, then, Summer, it was nice to meet you, but, rest assured, this building's elevators are just fine. You're not going to get stuck in them."

"That's good to know, because I have a feeling what's going to greet me at the top floor isn't going to be pretty, so I might be coming right back down, friend in tow."

This time it was his turn to say, "oh."

"Yeah, I'm normally not one for intuition and all that new age malarkey…"

"Malarkey?"

"…But I've got this feeling in the pit of my stomach – it's kind of a cross between a really bad hangover and homesickness, and I just know that there's something wrong with Marissa. That's my friend," she clarified for the super's benefit. "She's the one who lives here, on the penthouse floor actually. I'm here to see her… again. I was just here about an hour or so ago, so… yeah."

"Walk with me," the older man requested, holding open the door to the stairwell. "While, at first, it might not seem like the quickest way to do this, if you're going to need to help Marissa, you're probably going to need my keys to get into her apartment. We'll pass by my place on the way up to hers, so come along," he instructed her, nodding her into motion in effort to quicken Summer's pace.

"So, then, you know Marissa?"

"I'm the building supervisor. I know everyone who lives here, but, yes, I also _know _Marissa, and I know exactly why you're worried about her. I thought she had a chance of finally getting away from Mr. Meriden when that nice fellow Atwood was coming around here a while back, but he's seemed to have disappeared, and Marissa's still with that louse of a fiancé of hers."

"Ryan," the brunette grumbled, slightly pouting. "He ran back to California with his tail between his legs, couldn't hack here any longer."

"Don't judge Mr. Atwood too harshly," Bernie chastised her. "While it might be hard to watch your friend being hurt, it's even harder to watch someone you love go through the same thing. It makes a man feel helpless, like he's out of control, and, really, there wasn't anything he could have done for her here except wait and hope that she finally made her mind up to help herself."

"Yeah, but at least his presence gave her hope," she contradicted. "And trust me," the artistic director pressed. "Being pregnant, she could sure use the hope now."

"Excuse me? Did you just say that Marissa's pregnant? Oh no," the super sighed heavily, stopping momentarily to collect himself. "This is not good."

"Of course it's good," Summer argued. "In fact, it's great! Babies are so cute and cuddly, and they smell good. And, while, sure, they don't do much besides eat, and sleep, and poop for the first few months, you can still dress them up, and isn't that half the fun of parenthood?"

"I didn't mean that babies in general aren't wonderful," the building supervisor clarified, "because they are, but, in Marissa's case, this child, by no means, was planned, and it's entering a home that is unstable at best, unhealthy at worst. How familiar are you with cases of domestic violence?"  


"Ugh, I basically grew up in a sheltered, pretty, pretty pink bubble. How familiar do you think I am?"

"Point taken," Bernie admitted before continuing. "Often abusers are possessive. While they might not necessarily love their significant others, they're obsessed with them, think that they own them. A baby, to Mr. Meriden, would mean that not all of Marissa's attention would be placed upon him any longer. The child would become competition, and he wouldn't be able to handle that. My guess is that he will do whatever he can to get rid of the baby by any means possible." Taking hold of the brunette's arms, he aligned Summer so that she was facing him, looking him in the eyes when he asked her his next question. "Was Mr. Meriden there when you left Marissa at the penthouse an hour ago?"

Immediately, the stylist answered, "no," her voice resolute and firm, but then doubt started to creep its way past her defenses. "I mean, I didn't see him. He never told us that he was there, and Marissa thought he was at work, but I guess he could have been. Maybe he was hiding…"

"My apartment is 12B," the graying man informed her, shoving his own personal set of keys into her grasp. "Take the elevator up, go inside, and, right when you first walk in, there is a set of hooks with every single set of keys to this building. Grab the ones for Marissa's penthouse, and then continue your way upstairs to her. Give me your cell phone before you go," he asked of her, holding out his hand, "and I'll place the call to 911 on my way up to meet you. If we're wrong and nothing has happened to Marissa, then we'll call them back and apologize for the misunderstanding, but I highly doubt we're wrong, and I'd rather they be here as fast as possible than be 100 sure before calling them. Can you do this?"

"I can do this."

With that, she turned around and exited the stairwell. They were on the fourth floor, and she immediately located the elevator. The car seemed to move slowly, too slowly, as if every floor it passed on the way to the twelfth took a century, and, as time passed, Summer's fear for her friend only grew exponentially. She was worried not only about Marissa's health and safety but also about her state of mind. If Tanner did something to the baby, she wasn't sure her friend would be able to recover. While she didn't know everything or really, to be honest, much of anything about situations concerning abuse, she knew that a person could reach bottom, and, without something to will them to fight back, they could remain there for the rest of their lives. It happened to addicts, it happened to people who suffered an extreme loss, and it happened to people who somehow, somewhere along the way, lost themselves.

Just as Bernie had instructed her, she let herself into his cluttered and very kitschy apartment. In her haste to locate the correct set of keys, she knocked off of the hooks several other sets, but she knew the elderly man wouldn't mind, and she never bothered to stop and pick them up. Instead, she raced back to the lift and proceeded to make her way to the top floor, tapping her foot the entire ride up in an agitated effort to expel all her nervous energy. Of course, it didn't work, and, by the time she let herself into the penthouse, she was wound tighter than a top.

Calling out for her friend as she made her way through the cavernous space, her voice echoing off the barren and uninviting walls, she waited for a response, but none was given. Eventually, she entered the master bedroom and saw immediately why only silence had greeted her in the high-rise apartment.  


Collapsing onto her knees beside the prone figure, she gasped, "oh my god." It was worse than she thought, and her first reaction was an instantaneous dread that Marissa was dead. Reaching out a quivering hand, she touched the blonde's neck, searching for, willing for there to be a pulse. She sighed when she found one, weak though it was. Summer knew that there was nothing she could really do for her friend until the EMT's arrived, but she didn't like feeling helpless, so, to be proactive, to maybe, somehow, provide the injured woman with a shred of hope, she lifted one of her cold, fragile hands and held it between both of her own, leaning forward to whisper comforting, encouraging words of reassurance.

It didn't matter that Marissa was unconscious. All the doctors on the medical shows Summer had watched both as a teenager growing up and even still to that day as an adult told their patients' loved ones to talk to their comatose parents, spouses, sibling, children, friends, or whatever the relation might be, and, even though those shows weren't real, the advice made sense to the brunette stylist. And it didn't matter that the knees of her 275 dollar jeans were resting in her friend's pooled blood. Sure, the pants would be ruined, but, even if the red reminders of Marissa's pain and loss could be washed away, Summer knew the stains of that day would forever haunt her.

What if, instead of taking the blonde home, she had insisted upon going out for a celebratory dinner?

What if she had denied her wish to return back to the penthouse, maintaining that her friend had to stay with her until they could find her another apartment, far away from Tanner?

What if she would have been able to sense the impending doom when she had first dropped Marissa off? If she had stayed, would Tanner have postponed his abuse, or would he have simply turned on her as well?

Startling her out of her thoughts, a gentle hand was placed upon her shoulder. "This is not your fault, Summer," Bernie whispered softly, his mature, knowing voice somewhat calming her frantic apprehension. "The EMT's have arrived. They'll be here in just a moment. You should ride with her to the hospital."

"No," she argued, still maintaining her position beside her unconscious friend. "You ride along. I'll catch a cab or, hell, I can even run behind the ambulance if they go slow enough, and, considering this is Manhattan on a Saturday night, the chances of them breaking the land speed record are slim to none." Rambling on, she continued, "besides, even though I'm pretty tiny, I have excellent lung capacity, and, no offense, but you're already probably winded from climbing all those stairs, so you should ride…"

"She's going to be alright," he assured her, squeezing her shoulder once again. "No matter what, we'll make sure that she survives this, okay? But you really need to go with her to the hospital. Trust me, you'll be better at this sort of thing than some crusty widow like myself, but I promise you that I'll get there just as fast as I can, alright?"

"If you insist…"

"I do, Summer," the older gentleman stated with conviction. "I do."



She _did not _like to be summoned.

Not only did she have to fly across the country on absolutely no notice, but she had also been interrupted just as she was about to get ready for a date. So, she had to cancel her plans, call the airport to book a seat on the next departing flight to New York City, and she had to rush around getting ready for her emergency trip just because her eldest daughter had managed to somehow get herself in the hospital. Julie didn't know the details, but what she did know was that nothing could have been serious enough to warrant such hasty behavior, to warrant being summoned by a stranger. If Marissa needed her so badly, why wasn't Tanner the one trying to reach her? Why wasn't her future son-in-law as frantic as the woman she had talked to on the phone a few hours before? And why the hell hadn't there been a car waiting for her at the airport to take her to the hospital?

Instead, she had to waste valuable time, time she could have put to use getting some sleep in preparation for her impromptu visit to the city and all the shopping that was sure to come because of it, finding a cab, and, then, to add insult to injury, she had to endure a ride from JFK into Manhattan in the back of a dirty, smelly car while her driver spoke very little English. It was disgraceful and, quite frankly, embarrassing, and she was bound and determined to inform little Miss Summer Roberts, whom she assumed to be Tanner's new personal assistant, just how much she didn't appreciate her inconsideration.

Fluttering in through the emergency room, she located a staff member and directed them towards her luggage. "Take care of these for me," she demanded, without even an ounce of etiquette or appreciation. "And find me a room, too. Make it something upscale, won't you?"

It didn't matter to the redhead that the man she had so dismissively given her orders to was a registered nurse. She was the mother of Tanner Meriden's fiancée, and she felt entitled to a little special treatment. With heels clicking out a pointed march, she made her way towards the elevators and followed the directions the impertinent girl had given her over the phone. _Go to the third floor, obstetrics and gynecology, make two lefts, go past the nurses' desk, and your daughter's room will be located on the right hand side, seventh door down. _That was it – no _I'll have someone waiting for you_ or _would you like to check into your hotel room first and then come visit Marissa in the morning_, and, if it was the last thing Julie did before she went back to California, she was going to make sure the woman was fired.

"Let's get this over with," she announced without preamble, shoving the slightly cracked door to room 428 completely open. Inside, she found her daughter in a hospital bed, apparently sleeping and looking perfectly fine if not slightly pale – she'd have to remind her to make sure she kept her tanning appointments, a couple hospital staff members, one of which appeared to be a doctor, presumably Marissa's doctor, and a young girl, approximately her daughter's age, with dark hair and eyes. Immediately, she knew the girl to be the insolent Summer she had spoken with on the phone, and it didn't surprise her at all that the girl was a brunette. Julie had always had a mistrust for brunettes.

"Tell me what Marissa's done now, so I can get out of here and get some well-deserved sleep. I mean, if she gets to rest…"

"Marissa's mother, I presume," the doctor stepped forward, not offering her a hand in greeting or any other pleasantries. Mumbling softly under her breath, the physician stated, "I should have known."

"Known what," the redhead snapped, glaring at the health professional. "And, while I'm 

asking questions, why is my daughter on this floor? Just because a woman has a health issue, that does not automatically make it a female complaint. Christ, what century are we living in here?"

"Miss Cooper is on this floor, because she suffered from a placental abruption due to severe blunt force trauma to the abdomen."

"Not all of us have a PHD," Julie snapped, her garishly painted lips curling downward into an annoyed grimace. "Just speak in layman's terms."

"With a placental abruption, the placenta, or, to dumb it down for you, the sack that surrounds the baby which not only feeds and nourishes the fetus but also disposes of its waste, separates from the mother's uterus. In severe cases, such as Marissa's, when this occurs, life to the fetus can no longer be sustained. Severe bleeding can also be a complication. In essence," the older woman sighed, "your daughter has miscarried. We've administered IV fluids and given her a blood transfusion, because she is suffering from DIS, disseminated intravascular coagulation. Basically, we're having a difficult time stopping the bleeding, and, if we don't get it under control soon, we're going to have to perform a total hysterectomy."

"Now, what was this about, what did you call it… severe blunt force trauma to the abdomen?"

"To be frank, your daughter was nearly kicked to death by her fiancé, and," the doctor added, "the injuries did result in the termination of your first grandchild."

Julie stood up a little straighter, pushed back her shoulders, and glared at the OB-GYN in confrontation. "I don't believe you. Tanner is wonderful to us, to Marissa. He would never hurt her."

The redhead could see the brunette in the corner stand up, ready to practically charge her if necessary, but the doctor intervened and quickly calmed the younger woman down. As she turned back to her, the physician stated, "oh, I can assure you, Ma'am, that Mr. Meriden is very much responsible for your daughter's condition. In fact, the New York City Police Department currently have an arrest warrant out for him, and, as soon as he returns from his business trip, he will be taken into custody and, hopefully, if there is any justice in the world, denied bail. Although, from what I've heard about him and his crooked dealings, I highly doubt he'll get what he deserves.

"And before you even attempt to persuade me into believing this was all some big misunderstanding or a one-time occurrence," the woman continued before Julie had a chance to interject, "tell me, have you ever seen your daughter's medical records before? I doubt it, because, if you did, you wouldn't have the gall to stand there and defend the animal that put your child in that bed behind me. Why, just early today, I treated her for a dislocated shoulder, courtesy of one Tanner Meriden. She's had a broken collar bone in the past, broken rips, two broken wrists at different periods in time, and too many accounts of bruises and contusions to even begin to add them up. There are also some very interesting scarring on the small of her back, scarring that is consistent with a lashing sustained by either a whip or a belt. So, now that I've cleared that up, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and check the latest test results on your daughter's platelet count. And congratulations on the future son-in-law. Why it's every mother's dream to welcome a baby killer into the family."

Before she could retort back, there was a soft, almost imperceptible sound from the hospital bed across the room. "Wha…," her daughter gasped, her throat obviously dry and in pain from the oxygen tubes inserted into her nose. "What's wrong with my baby?"

"Marissa, I'm so sorry," the woman the redhead knew to be Summer attempted to comfort the crying blonde.

"No, no… Don't apologize when there's nothing to apologize for. I want…"

"Don't worry," Julie started to approach her daughter, holding out a hand towards her. "I'll call Tanner, and he'll be here as soon as he can. I promise."

But the only response she got was her hand slapped away before Marissa turned back to the brunette. "I want Ryan and my baby, Summer, please. I need you to get Ryan for me, and I need you to tell me how my baby is doing. It's okay, right; she's going to fine?"

She watched as a nurse administered what she could only assume to be a high dosed sedative to her daughter, and, almost immediately, Marissa's cries of desperation and panic diminished into quiet sobs and then ended all together, the only remaining sign that she had indeed woken up long enough to lose control were the dried tear tracks marring her otherwise ashen face.

"I think you've caused enough damage here," Summer announced, turning to level a pointed, defiant stare at the older woman. "Please leave."

"She is still my daughter."

"You might have given birth to her, but she hasn't really been your daughter in years, Julie," the disrespectful brunette declared boldly. "Either leave now on your own, or I'll have security drag you out of this hospital by the roots of your badly dyed hair. The choice is yours, but I wouldn't recommend testing me right about now. It's been a long day, and it's only going to be an even longer night, and I'm in no mood to deal with the likes of you. Go to your hotel," Summer dismissed her, waving her hand in a shooing motion, "go stay at the penthouse, hell, if you want to, fly back to California for all I care. I see now that it was a mistake to call you. You're not even fit to sit by your daughter's bedside, and your presence in this room is making me sick. Women like you don't deserve to have children, and I hope the knowledge that you stood back and allowed your daughter to be abused day after day, week after week, year after year eats at you, tears you up inside for the rest of your miserable, insignificant life. Get out of my sight."

And that's exactly what Julie did, pivoting around on her expensive designer heals and leaving the hospital room as quickly as her feet could carry her, determined to fix the mess Marissa had made out of her own life, no matter what she had to do.

It was just another boring, sleepless night in the Cohen household for Seth. Alone, because his parents were both already in bed and because Ryan had moved out that week into his own apartment, he sat sulking in the pool house, a melting tub of simple, very safe French vanilla ice cream seasoned with chucks of bananas, chocolate syrup, and whipped cream in his lap, leaving condensation rings on his Iron Man boxer shorts. It was a typical evening for the brunette, his television blaring to serve as a constant source of companionship. At that particular moment, he was watching _Designing Women_ and fearing he would someday end 

up just like Suzanne Sugarbaker, chubby, misunderstood, and ridiculed. It was most definitely not something to look forward to, but, at the same time, it didn't stop him from dipping his already sticky spoon back into the ice cream container for another calorie laden bite.

Disrupting his one man pity party, the phone next to him on the bedside table started to ring, and, not wanting it to disturb his parents, he picked it up quickly, already offering the person on the other line a greeting despite not taking the time to check the caller ID. "Sethanne Cohenbaker speaking."

"Marissa lost the baby," he heard a somber, tear filled voice inform him over the line. Although it didn't sound the feisty woman he had talked to earlier in the day, the curly haired brunette knew it to be Summer Roberts. "She's in the hospital, sedated but out of critical condition. Right now, we're waiting on test results to see just how much damage Tanner did, to see if she'll be able to have children in the future or if she'll have to have an emergency hysterectomy to stop the hemorrhaging."

"Holy shit."

"It's bad, Seth," the crying woman confessed brokenly. "She woke up for just a few moments, hysterical. Her worthless mother was there at the time," a hard, bitter tone infused strength into her voice, "reassuring her that she'd get Tanner there as soon as possible."

"Well, seeing as how that animal was the one to put her in the hospital in the first place, I highly doubt that did any good."

"It didn't," the brunette stylist confirmed. "It just made Marissa even more upset. She started panicking, begging for both her baby and Ryan, and I just sat there, holding her hand, helpless. I mean, damn it, Seth," Summer yelled. He could hear the frustration in her voice. "I'm supposed to be her friend, I'm supposed to be able to do something to make this better for her, and, right about now, the only two people that woman has in her life to support her are me and Bernie…"

"Bernie," the freeloader parroted, needing clarification.

"He's her building supervisor, and I guess they're kind of friends, too. Actually," Summer added, "Ryan knows him. I guess he and Bernie met the afternoon Ryan found her unconscious from a beating she received from Tanner's belt."

"Classy."

"Isn't it," she asked rhetorically. He could just imagine her rolling her eyes at that very moment, too.

Surprising even himself at being the one to redirect the conversation back to the topic at hand, Seth attempted to ease the suffering woman's grief by just a little bit. "Marissa has more than just you and Bernie," he told her, trying to infuse his own voice with a note of confidence, hoping that, just maybe, he could pass it along through the phone line. "She has me, too, at least in spirit until I can get to New York."

"What?!"

"As soon as I can get a flight out of this godforsaken hellhole other people call a town, I'm coming to help. I don't know what exactly I'll be able to do. I am pretty good at going on coffee runs, though," he joked, making Summer laugh for the first time since their conversation started. "And, if I start practicing now, I might be able to make a passable balloon animal by the time my plane touches down in the morning. What do you say," he asked, pressing her. "How does a little company and a lot of really crappy comedy sound?"

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but it sound pretty good," the creative director admitted. "Can you do something else for me while you're at it?"

"Sure," Seth agreed. "Anything."

"Can you try to get in touch with your brother? I understand that he needed separation from everything that was going on here, but things have changed. Marissa was going to leave Tanner on her own because of this baby, and there's currently a warrant out for the ass' arrest. Marissa found her will to leave him," she stated passionately. "Now, it's time for Ryan to find his will to stay."

"I won't promise you results," the curly haired twenty-eight year old responded, "but I'll give it my all."

"Thanks, Seth."

"You're very welcome, Summer," he returned. "I'll see you in a few hours."

Clicking off the phone, he immediately started dialing his brother's cell while, at the same time, getting out of bed, turning the TV off, and throwing away his half eaten tub of ice cream. It didn't matter that the frozen food would melt all over the trash can and probably attract a wide assortment of multi-legged creatures eager for a free meal; the only thing that mattered was getting in touch with Ryan and getting the both of them to the airport as soon as possible. But his only sibling refused to answer his phone. Seth would let it ring, and ring, and ring, but it would only go to voicemail, and, every time it did, he would leave another message, never expecting his brother to actually call him back, just hoping that the stubborn blonde would eventually listen to what he had to say on the voicemails.

Ten minutes following hanging up the phone after his long distance conversation with Summer, the freeloader was ready to leave. Bag packed and dressed, albeit slightly absentmindedly seeing as how his socks didn't match, his shoes weren't laced, and he forgotten to zip his fly, he practically crashed out the pool house doors, leaving them open and blowing in the breeze behind him. In his car and on his way to LAX, he attempted one last ditch effort to reach Ryan.

Like before, the mobile rang and rang and rang, but, astonishingly enough, on the ninth ring, it was picked up just before the phone could go to voice mail. "What the hell do you want, Seth," his best friend exploded at him. "You know that I have a date tonight with Colleen…"

"Marissa's in the hospital. She was pregnant, the baby's not yours by the way, not that I think you would actually care at this point, but Tanner beat her so badly she suffered a miscarriage. Things were pretty touch and go there for a while, but she's out of critical condition. They're just waiting to see whether or not the bleeding stops, because, if it doesn't, she'll have to undergo an emergency hysterectomy, rendering her permanently unable to have children. She was leaving him before this all happened, and there's now an 

arrest warrant out for Tanner's arrest." All of this he said in one breath, without pause, and he wondered just how much of it his only sibling would have been able to understand. But he didn't attempt to say anything for a second time. "Oh, and by the way," Seth added snidely. "She's also begging for both _you _and her dead baby." And, with that, he snapped his phone shut before turning it off.

It was now up to Ryan to decide what he wanted to do; he could personally do no more except go to New York himself and hope that the woman his brother was in love with would make it out of the situation with both her health and her sanity intact. It was all anyone, but Ryan, could do for her.

Arriving at the appropriate gate at LAX nearly an hour and half later, Seth looked ahead and saw his older brother waiting for him. As he approached Ryan, the two men remained silent, obviously less than ready to either bridge their argument or to discuss what lay ahead of them in New York. Taking the offered, already paid for ticket from his only sibling's hand, the two men moved to board together, still not saying a word.

It took until they were finally seated, waiting for the plane to take off, for one of them to speak up, and it was Seth who decided to break the silence. Snidely, he inquired, "what happened to your _date_?" He knew it was childish, that he should let go of his disappointment in the doctor, because, in the end, Ryan had done the right thing, but he couldn't help his animosity or his lingering doubt that his brother's actions were actually sincere and not just out of pity towards Marissa or fear of being in the wrong.

In response, the blonde calmly stated, "it doesn't matter now." Swallowing thickly and glancing out the small window beside him, he continued, "nothing else matters now."

Sighing, Seth leaned back in his seat. He had his best friend back, the man he not only admired but loved, and the change of heart occurred just in the nick of time. Closing his eyes in preparation for takeoff and willing himself to sleep, he realized that they were all going to be okay now. He wasn't sure how or why or even when, but he had faith that, before things were said and done, all four of them – Ryan and Marissa, Summer, and even himself – would come out of their present situation better than they had been before when the whole started. Sure, he was a blind, foolish optimist, but, in his book, confidence was invaluable and always preferable over negativity.

His Nana Cohen would be so disappointed in him.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Ryan took a deep, cleansing breath, his tired and red rimmed eyes closing voluntarily for just a moment. He needed to relax; he needed to calm down and regain control of his temper, because, when he finally came face to face with Marissa, he didn't need to be upset. Although his anger was certainly not directed at her, it was aimed in several other directions, one of which was himself, and he didn't want her picking up on any less than hopeful, less than composed vibes. After all, she needed him to be strong for her, to be brave and hold her together while she rightfully fell apart and then slowly put herself back together, and, while doing so, she shouldn't have to worry about him falling apart, too.

But, in his defense, it had been a very long morning.

The cab pulled up in front of the emergency entrance to Mount Sinai Medical Center, and the doctor stepped out. For a moment, he enjoyed the feeling of being back in New York, of being someplace so alive, so vibrant when he had, the previous night, been worrying about the woman he loved hanging in the perilous balance between life and death. He took in the sights and sounds he had grown so accustomed to while living in the city that, reportedly, never slept – the honking of car horns, pedestrians strolling by without any concern for those around them and what might be happening to those other people, the hotdog and hot pretzel vendors on their usual street corners, and the far off sound of a siren racing as fast as it could through the otherwise crowded streets. It didn't matter that he had been gone for over a month, and it didn't matter that he would soon be returning to Southern California. New York was home.

The moment of peace was fleeting though. He wouldn't allow himself the chance to relax until he saw for himself that Marissa was alright, so, turning back to the main source of his frustration, he snidely asked, "you can handle paying for the cab fare, can't you, or did you forget your wallet, too?"

"You're a funny man, Ryan Atwood," his brother mocked, though there was little humor to his tone. "Who knew that you were such a Cohen, already making jokes to ease the tension despite the fact that it's neither the time nor the place for such shenanigans."

"It's either make fun of you or hit you, so you choose, Seth."

"Please, then," his best friend beseeched him. "Continue with the one man comedy tour."

Silence fell between the two siblings as they approached the entrance to the hospital. Side by side, they entered the respected medical facility, immediately locating the elevators. Ryan approached the lifts, pressing the up arrow button, and Seth followed dutifully. The quiet that had descended upon them outside, however, didn't last long, because, before they even had a chance to board the elevator car, the younger of the two men was talking once again.

"Come on, how long are you really going to be mad at me."

"You were the one who got the phone call about Marissa being in the hospital, you were the one who spoke with Summer about coming to New York to help, and you were the one who forgot to ask which hospital she was in."

"Hey, not all of that's my fault," the freeloader defended himself. "If you wouldn't have been so stubborn, changing your cell phone number, Summer would have been able to contact 

you as well."

"Seth…"

"Okay," his only sibling conceded, "so I messed up. You try getting a phone call in the middle of the night…"

"It was hardly the middle of the night," Ryan argued. "It was barely midnight."

But the curly haired brunette paid him no attention. Instead, he kept talking as the two of them boarded the lift and pressed for the appropriate floor – obstetrics and gynecology. "So I wasn't all level-headed and Zen. Well, excuse the hell out of me. I had just heard that the woman my brother was unwilling to admit that he was in love with had been beaten to the point, no, excuse me," Seth corrected himself, "kicked to the point where she suffered a miscarriage. I think it's understandable that I would forget to ask about the small things."

"So now you're telling me that the hospital Marissa was being treated at was just an insignificant detail."

"Dude," the twenty-eight year old exclaimed, his eyes wide with innocence. "Stop twisting my words around and using them against me! We already have one lawyer in the family. You don't need to suddenly switch careers and go to the dark side, too." Taking a deep breath, Seth went on to explain, "my plan was to call Summer on my cell phone when I got to the airport here in New York, but, after fighting with you on the phone, I was pretty upset, so I threw my cell while I was driving to LAX, and, by the time I got there, I forgot to grab it before going inside to board the flight."

"I see," Ryan mused as they stepped off the elevator and looked around the hospital floor for a clue as to where to turn or go in order to find Marissa. "Now you're blaming me for your incompetence."

"That's harsh."

Was he perhaps being slightly short tempered with his brother? Yes, he was, but the physician felt he had every right to. They had landed at LaGuardia hours before, but, when he had asked his best friend which hospital to tell the cab driver to go to, Seth had screwed up his face in confusion, stroked his chin for several seconds, and then comically responded with a shrug of his shoulders that he didn't know. Ryan had flipped out, and his freeloading sibling had told him to chill, that he'd just get his cell phone out of his bag and call Summer. Ten minutes later, they realized there was no cell phone, so, hence, there was no way to get in touch with Marissa's best friend.

He had called Bernie, but the older man, who was probably at the hospital, too, didn't pick up his house phone, and it had gone straight to the answering machine. From there, they had called all the hospitals in the Manhattan area, requesting Summer Roberts, a potential visitor, to be paged. Very few hospitals had complied; most laughed and then hung up on them. They couldn't claim to be a family member in order to get information, because Marissa had no brothers, and there was an arrest warrant out for Tanner. Finally, with a burst of inspiration, just as they were going to start searching the city one hospital at a time, Ryan had contacted an old colleague from when he was still living and working in New York, and, an hour and half later, the colleague came through with the information they had needed – Mount Sinai Medical Center, third floor.

Harshly palming his face, rough with two day old stubble, Ryan attempted to apologize to his brother. "Look, Seth," he started only to pause and rethink what he was going to say. "We're both tired, and we're operating under an extreme set of circumstances. I know that you didn't purposely forget to ask Summer for Marissa's hospital information, and I know that you didn't purposely leave your cell phone in your car back in LA, but I'm just upset that we've been in New York for nearly three hours, and I've yet to see Marissa. So, could you do me a favor," he asked of the younger man, placing a friendly hand on the taller man's shoulder. "Would you please just go and find a waiting room, hang out there for a while, maybe get some sleep, and I'll come and find you in a little bit?"

"I'm sorry, Ryan," his only sibling denied him. "I can't do that. Normally, I would try to do whatever you asked of me, but I'm not just here for you this time; I'm also here for Summer. And," he warned, stopping the doctor before he could interrupt. "I know that I don't know her very well… or, really, at all, but, while you and Marissa are going to have each other to turn to, she's going to need a friend. I can be that person for her."

He nodded in acceptance, leading the way towards where the signs and arrows indicated they would find the third floor nurses' desk. "Marissa Cooper's room, please," he asked politely.

"Are you family, sir?"

"Well, no, but…"

Before he had a chance to explain or even think up an excuse, there was an older woman beside him, holding out a hand in greeting. "Doctor Atwood, thank you for coming in for a consult." Without the head nurse being able to see her, the female physician winked in his direction. "I'm Doctor Sylvia Madison, Miss Cooper's OB-GYN. I was the one who spoke to you over the phone. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Follow me this way, please," she indicated, holding out her arm towards a hallway of patient rooms.

Without question, Ryan complied, curious as to how the woman had known who he was and that it was important enough for him to see and be with Marissa that she would lie to cover for him. But he couldn't ask any questions while there were others around who could overhear and become suspicious, so he willingly went along with the ruse.

From a few paces behind him, the blonde could hear his brother say, "I'm with him. He's my…" And he had to laugh when Seth attempted to muster up enough confidence to sound convincing when he stated, "I'm needed for this consult, too, so if you'll excuse me…"

It wasn't until they were right outside Marissa's hospital room that Doctor Madison stopped to confer. In a conspiratorial, whispered tone, she admitted, "Miss Roberts informed me that you would be arriving this morning, but I must say that we were expecting you some time sooner than this."

"There was a… a communication breakdown," he answered. "I apologize for any inconvenience..."

"There's no need," she assured him. "I don't normally do this, break hospital rules, but, anytime that Miss Cooper's been awake, she's asked for you, and I'm a firm believer that the presence and support of a loved one, even if they aren't family, can be the best form of medicine for a patient. Now, Miss Roberts has been allowed in the room because she rode here in the ambulance with Miss Cooper, and many of my nurses believe her to be Miss 

Cooper's sister. In fact, the only time she's left her side has been during examinations and tests, but I'm afraid your…"

"Oh," Ryan realized, turning partially to facilitate an introduction between the OB-GYN and Seth. "This is my brother, Seth Cohen. Seth, this is Doctor Madison. She's been handling Marissa's case."

"An OB-GYN, huh," the curly haired brunette repeated, a wicked twinkle in his warm, brown eyes. "That must mean that you get a lot of…"

"Ignore him, please," Ryan pleaded, slapping his best friend upside the head. "He's a thirteen year old trapped in a twenty-eight year old's body."

"Don't worry," Sylvia reassured him. "I have children of my own… and two brothers. I well used to their inappropriate behavior."

The two physicians shared a quiet laugh, but their moment of camaraderie at Seth's expense was cut short when a fourth person joined their little group. "And who the hell are you?"

"I thought you were told to leave last night," the female doctor asked, turning to face the redhead. "What are you doing back here?"

"Marissa is my daughter…"

"Wait a minute," Ryan interjected, his cobalt blue eyes steeling to hard gun metal gray. "You," he leveled the one words towards Julie as if it were an accusation. "You are Marissa's mother?" Without waiting for a response he turned towards his sibling. "I don't care what you have to do, but get her out of here, Seth. After all the shit you've pulled over the years, including the stunt last night where you forgot to get Marissa's hospital information, you owe me. So, do this for me – get this woman out of my sight, and if she dares to try and come back here, call the cops and get a restraining order against her."

Leveling the mother of the woman he loved with the coldest, most hate filled grimace he could manage, he stated, "you did this. You, by sitting back and doing nothing, you did this to your own daughter, and if there are any lasting side effects, if she's not able to have children some day, I will hold you personally responsible, and, trust me," Ryan promised her, "you don't want me for an enemy."

With that, he rotated around on the heels of his shoes and strode confidently inside Marissa's room. Summer, or, at least, the woman he presumed to be Summer, was sitting by her bedside, holding Marissa's hand, but, when he entered, she stood and moved towards him. Silently and without warning, she pulled him into a tight, almost desperate hug. He returned the gesture, finally feeling as if he could breathe now that Marissa was in his sight, and had to hold back a few of his own tears when he felt the gentle moisture of the brunette's saline emotion soak through his t-shirt and scald his skin.

Her tears, though simply meant as an outlet of emotion, each and every one of them, served as reminders to Ryan that he, too, was personally to blame for Marissa ending up in the hospital. While, realistically, he knew that the blonde had to leave Tanner on her own, he couldn't stop second guessing himself at every turn. Maybe things would have been different if he had only put aside his own fear and insecurities and remained in New York as a source of support and friendship for the woman he loved. And, just as he threatened Julie 

with everlasting guilt and recrimination if there were any lasting side effects to Marissa's miscarriage, he knew that he would forever hold himself responsible, too.

After several moments, Summer pulled out of his embrace, reaching a shaking hand up to wipe away the moisture from her face. "I'm glad you're here," she told him.

Simply nodding, Ryan returned, "Seth's waiting outside for you."

"Okay," she accepted. Lightening the mood for a moment, the brunette teased, "on a scale of one to ten, just how weird is your brother?"

"Probably a nine, why?"

Summer laughed. "I just wanted to make sure we were on a similar eccentricity level. Listen," she informed him, "I haven't been home, I mean really home, in almost 24 hours, so I think I'm going to get out of here for a little while, get something to eat, catch a little shuteye. Do you want me to…?"

"Yes," he took her up on her unvoiced offer. "Please."

"Alright then," she agreed. "Seth and I will come back this evening, and we'll bring you some dinner then, too, okay?"

"Sure. And thank you, Summer," Ryan offered her sincerely, aiming one last telling glance in her direction, "for everything."

The stylist simply nodded in recognition of his appreciation before slipping out of the room and turning the lights off on her way. Without wasting any time, Ryan toed off his shoes and climbed into bed beside Marissa. As a doctor, he knew he shouldn't jostle the patient, that moving her and holding her could interfere with the various tubes and IV's going in and out of her prostrate body, but, as a man who was in love with the patient, he didn't really care. He needed to feel her close to him, and he knew that Marissa needed to feel him close to her as well. As she turned into his warmth, snuggling in even closer to his form despite being sedated, for the first time since he heard the words so eerily spoken by his brother hours before – _Marissa's in the hospital_, he knew she would be alright.

After all, she simply _had _to be, because, quite frankly, he needed her.

! !

Letting herself into the penthouse her daughter shared with her future son-in-law, the same future son-in-law who would be arrested upon reentering the United States for, reportedly, putting her daughter in the hospital with severe, life threatening injuries, the same future son-in-law she meant to somehow reunite with Marissa, Julie realized she was absolutely exhausted. She just wasn't cut out for this – for having to deal with the drama of other people's lives. Living on her own, she barely managed to take care of herself, and, even when her daughters had still been living with her, they had learned to fend for themselves at an early age. She simply wasn't mother material, and her ability to care about anyone else or to look after them had not improved with time.

Her life was a selfish one. She slept, she went out to eat, she shopped, she watched television, she went out with her various male friends, and that was pretty much it. Her contact with her family was minimal; she only saw and spoke to them enough to maintain a 

loose relationship, and, as far as real, honest, dependable girlfriends went, she had no use for them. Other women were competition. Sure, she enjoyed gossiping at the salon as much as anyone else, but her use for female companionship started and stopped there. And, while she recognized the fact that she lived a rather shallow life, she didn't really care. After all, it was her life to lead, her mistakes to embrace, her decisions to one day rue with lament. But, so far, though, she had very few regrets.

However, the one thing she did have misgivings towards was allowing Marissa such a long leash when it came to Tanner. Now, after it was probably too late, she realized that she should have moved to New York as soon as her eldest daughter met up with the wealthy businessman. If she had been there, she could have helped steer their relationship, and she sure as hell would have made sure that nothing got so out of hand that Tanner had a warrant out for his arrest. At that point, though, she had no idea how to help the situation. Really, how could she? It wasn't as if she had any influence either legally or with someone who was powerful enough to sway or even bribe the courts, and, without gaining access to her daughter's hospital room, she had no hope of convincing Marissa to drop the charges against her fiancé.

But, then again, she was beyond tired. She needed sleep and lots of it, a little pampering, and maybe a couple cocktails, and, then, afterwards, she'd be able to think. She'd come with a plan to fix all the mistakes Marissa had made, and, as soon as she made sure the ink was dry on the couple's marriage license, she'd fly back to her own life out in California, reaping the riches of her reward. Yes, Julie told herself as she made her way towards the hall which led to both the master and guest bedrooms, very soon, life would be good again, grand even if she could weasel a larger monthly stipend from her oh so generous soon-to-be son-in-law.

"So, do you always let yourself into other people's homes?"

"Jesus, Tanner," the redhead exclaimed breathlessly, falling back to lean against the hallway wall while clutching dramatically at her ample, heaving chest. "What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in jail right now?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Of course not," Julie snapped, glaring at the younger man. "Why would I want you to go to prison for something that's obviously a huge misunderstanding?"

"But is it?" Laughing, he advanced towards her, his gleaming grin rakish with cynicism and sinister charm. Just as quickly as the polite mask she had always known him to wear evaporated, it appeared again. "Relax, Julie," Tanner teasingly ordered her. "And tell me. What are you doing here?"

"I needed some sleep."

"Well, you're always welcome in my home. Of course, though, you already knew that. And, to answer your question, my lawyer arranged for me to be given a couple hours to get my affairs in order before I turned myself in. My arraignment and bail hearings have been fast tracked for this afternoon. It's amazing what a few well placed bribes can accomplish with the otherwise stagnant Unites States justice department."

She nodded nervously, unsure of how to proceed with or react towards the man standing before her. Finally, she settled on cold hard facts and a topic change. "Marissa lost the 

baby."

"I know."

That's it. That's all he had to say, and, suddenly, Julie realized she had made the wrong decision in coming to the penthouse. She wasn't equipped to handle such a complicated situation, and, if she were honest with herself, in that moment, Tanner was slightly intimidating her, and, if there was ever a feeling she hated to experience, it was that of being bullied.

"You know, on second thought, I'll just get out of your hair. You obviously have a lot going on today, and I don't want to be in the way. Besides," she added reassuringly when it seemed as if the communications executive was going to argue with her, "suddenly, I'm feeling famished. I think I'll go grab some lunch, and then I should probably head back to the hospital, just in case Marissa actually asks for me. Not that my daughter has any idea what or who she's calling out for," Julie laughed nervously, backing up and away from the curious man before her. Tanner appeared to be hanging onto every word she said. "I mean, you should have heard her last night, begging and pleading for some guy named Ryan, but she doesn't know anyone by that…"

"Son of a bitch," Tanner cursed, screaming and punching a ragged whole in the plastered wall. While he fumed, Julie couldn't move. She literally felt frozen in place as she watched the man who had never even broken a sweat in front of her before lose complete control. "I knew she was fucking him," he sneered, directing his hate filled comments towards her despite the fact that she had no idea what he was talking about. "She said that they were only friends, that she would quit seeing him and spending time with him if that's what I wanted. Why, I bet that bastard kid of hers that I got rid of wasn't even mine. All that effort for nothing. Well, when that bitch of a daughter of yours wakes up, Julie, tell her this for me – tell her that this isn't over yet; tell her that I will get away with this, and, when I do, first, I'm going after that doctor she's been screwing, and, then, when I'm finished with him, I'm coming after her. Do you think you can remember that, Julie? Do you think that your pathetic, drug devastated mind can handle passing along that message?"

"Yes," the redhead whispered before turning around and practically running out of the top floor apartment.

Safely ensconced in the elevator a few moments later, she finally breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing against the back wall of the lift. How had things gotten to this point? She had such a good thing going with Marissa dating Tanner, but, somehow, she and her daughter had allowed it all to slip away. But maybe getting away from the businessman was the right thing to do. Tanner was obviously a loose cannon. If he could lose control in his personal life so easily, surely it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge professionally either. And a doctor was certainly nothing to be ashamed of. With the right investments and even better connections, a doctor would be able to provide her with just as comfortable of a lifestyle as Tanner ever could.

With that thought in mind, Julie relaxed. While one door to fortune was closing behind her, another was opening, but, this time, she would make damn sure that her oldest daughter didn't mess things up. After all, how many chances did one girl get at landing herself a rich, successful husband? Then, once Marissa's relationship was squared away, she'd start working on Caitlyn. It was time that her youngest started thinking about settling down, about finding Mr. Wonderful and Completely Loaded. Yes, the mother of two smiled to herself – everything was going to be just fine.

! !

"The bathroom's through there," Summer pointed down the short hallway which led to her own bedroom and bath, the only ones in the tiny, Manhattan apartment. "Kitchen's behind you, and if you touch my TiVo, the remote will be the last thing your grubby fingers ever feel up."

"So, essentially, what's yours is mine," Seth stated hopefully, smiling sweetly if not slightly impertinently towards his temporary host.

"Yeah, nice try but no," the petite brunette corrected him. "I'm very set in my ways, and I'm the adult product of a spoiled, pampered childhood. You're welcome to stay here for a few days, but, once Marissa's up and about and out of the hospital, I'm kicking your ass to the curb, pal, puppy dog eyes or no puppy dog eyes."

"So you noticed them then, because I've really been working on playing up that feature of mine."

"You are such an ass."

"If the shoe fits," the twenty-eight year old freeloader admitted. "So," he prompted, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, "where exactly will I be sleeping?" His face visibly dropped and he lost some of his exuberance when she, with a helpful smirk on her face, pointed towards her sofa. "You've got to the kidding me."

"I wouldn't dare joke about something so serious," Summer playfully defended herself. "No, in all seriousness, Seth, this is the only place you can stay. I don't have a guest room."

"Well, what about your room," he suggested. "We could share."

"Only if you were a corpse and I had a creepy fetish for dead guys," the stylist retorted snidely.

"Ew, Summer," the curly haired gust bemoaned. "Necrophilia is so last century."

"Whatever, dork," she returned, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, you should at least get the point. You and I, in the same bed, hell, the same room, is so not going to happen. So, entertain your little fantasies out here on my couch - I'll be sure to throw it away and buy a new one after you leave, and, in the meantime, I'll be dreaming about Lee Pace in my nice, big, comfy bed with the a locked door between us, keeping me completely safe from your depraved ways and interest." Pivoting around on her heel, she went to leave, offering him a simple, "goodnight."

"But aren't you forgetting something Summer?"

"Uh," she thought about it for a moment, tipping her chin to the side and popping out her hip. After several minutes, she responded, "nope. I don't think so."

"What about a pillow for me to use," Seth suggested, "or a blanket so I can cover up. And aren't you going to offer me a bedtime snack, your extra toothbrush, and a warm, fuzzy platitude about how you're happy that I'm staying with you along with a goodnight kiss before you leave me out here all alone?"  


The creative director stared at him, agitation written plainly across her otherwise beautiful face. "You've got to be freaking kidding me! You didn't pack your own toothbrush? Just how old are you? Five?"

"Well, Ryan told Doctor Madison this morning that I'm a thirteen year old trapped in a twenty…"

"I really don't care, okay," she interrupted him. "Look, did you really forget your toothbrush, because I don't have a spare. The only person who ever visits me is my Dad, and he always stays at a hotel, and he never forgets to pack anything, so, if you need a toothbrush, we're going to have to go back out and buy you one."

"No," the freeloader reassured her. "I was just joking around. Listen, Summer, I'm sorry if I…"

"Don't worry about it," she reassured him, coming to plop down on the couch. He sat down beside her. "I should be the one apologizing. I realize that you're just trying to lighten the mood, to make me laugh. After all, that's what you promised me when you offered to fly out here, and I accepted. I'm just really tired and slightly depressed."

"Which is quite understandable given the present situation."

"Not to mention the fact that I have to go to the penthouse tomorrow to pack up all of Marissa's things. I don't want her to have to go back there herself if I can help it, but, even though I'd rather be the one to face that place, I'm still not relishing the idea of stepping foot inside that apartment, especially after what I saw there yesterday." Sighing, she let her head fall back against the cushion of the couch. "Can you believe that it hasn't even been twenty-four since this whole mess started. I feel like I've lived an entire year in a single day."

"It has all been pretty surreal," he agreed with. Reaching out a slightly hesitant hand, he wound his long, bony fingers together with Summer's, attempting to give her strength simply by showing her that he was there, supporting her, whether she wanted his help or not. "And don't worry," he continued. "You're not going to that penthouse tomorrow all by yourself. I'm not letting you do that alone. I'll go with you, and I'll help you pack all Marissa's things up. However," he added, teasing her slightly. "You're going to have to be the one to carry the really heavy boxes, because you're physically stronger than I am."

"Don't forget mentally and emotionally stronger, too," the pretty brunette added softly, peeking open just one eye to make sure her joking insult landed on its mark. Seth's goofy grin told her that it had. Standing up, she left the living room, calling back over her shoulder, "wait there, and don't think about changing yet. I'm going to go and grab you some bedding."

Returning two minutes later, she dumped a pile of goose down pillows and rich, luxurious duvets upon her guest's head, laughing at his bewildered expression. "Hey," she warned him before he could protest, "you wanted hospitality. Now accept it." Offering him one last smile, she warned, "I'll see you in a couple hours. Remember, I promised Ryan that we'd bring him some food later."

"Yeah, about that," Seth argued. "Don't worry about it, Summer. I'll handle it. You should get some sleep."  


"But…"

"No, it's fine," he assured her. "I got to rest last night on the plane, but you haven't slept at all since the day before yesterday. And, despite how it may seem, I'm perfectly capable of picking up some takeout and catching a cab back to Mount Sinai. I won't get lost."

"Please do," she teased him with a friendly chuckle. Before he could grumble, she changed the topic. "See you tomorrow, Seth."

"Tomorrow," he agreed.

As she made her way back towards her bedroom, alone as she had decreed, the stylist had a sneaking suspicion that, now, that her new friend had entered her life, he wouldn't just be around on a temporary basis. Seth Cohen was going to be a constant pain in her ass in the future. Luckily for him, she happened to like pain. It was a character builder.

! !

As he took his seat in the dimly lit, thirty-ninth floor office, Caleb reached up and loosened his tie. After all, this wasn't exactly a formal meeting – more a meeting of friendly minds. Smiling crookedly at the man across from him, he greeted, "thanks for meeting with me on such short notice, Richard."

The other man laughed congenially. Fingers tented together in front of him, he remarked, "anything for an old college buddy, Cal. You know that. Now, what's this all about? What exactly can I do for you?"

"Actually, I think we'll be able to help each other," the real estate mogul revealed, smirking slightly. "I'm willing to invest in your company, help you open up that west coast branch of offices that you've been salivating and pining over for the past couple of years, and, in return, all you have to do for me is turn the other cheek when my grandson goes after and eventually ruins one of your top executives."

"And just who exactly will be my sacrificial lamb?"

"Tanner Meriden," Caleb revealed, tossing the dossier Ryan had thrown away onto his friend and future business partner's desk. "And, after you read what's in that folder, I highly doubt you'll mind surrendering him to the lions. Meriden's been a very bad boy over the years, and, at this point, you're just damn lucky he hasn't brought you down in the process." Crossing his right leg over his left knee, he pressed on. "Find me a cigar, Richard. I feel like celebrating."


	11. Chapter 11

_After this chapter, there's only one remaining. Enjoy!_

Charlynn

**Chapter Eleven**

He wasn't sure if he had managed to sleep at all the night before, but he really didn't care. He didn't feel tired, but, at the same time, he didn't feel well rested either. He just was. Waiting, hoping, willing to hear some news, any news at that point, just so that he would know what kind of obstacles Marissa would be facing on the road to recovery she had ahead of her. But the nurses left them alone, the doctor hadn't been in since the night before, and so he simply remained there, by Marissa's side, holding her.

Even if he wanted to sleep, he wasn't sure if he would be able to. Anytime his eyes shut, he was forced to confront his fears. On a constant loop through his mind ran the images he had seen firsthand of Marissa hurt – her broken collar bone, the cuts and lacerations on her back from when Tanner whipped her, how frail and helpless she looked laying in the hospital bed when he first arrived the afternoon before. But, mixed in with what he knew, were things he imagined, both of the past and the future. He saw Tanner beating Marissa while he stood back and did nothing, a mental picture of the blame he placed upon himself for leaving her all those weeks before. And he saw what could happen to the woman he loved if she woke up and there was too much damage, whether physical or emotional, for him to help her fix with time, patience, and love.

So, instead of relaxing, instead of resting, he remained awake, his attention solely placed upon the woman in his arms. He watched her sleep. He watched her chest slowly rise and then gently fall again with every single breath she took; he watched her eyelashes flutter in sleep as her subconscious dreamed away. For her sake, he wished for those dreams to be pleasant ones. He watched as her body wearily resituated itself during the night, seeking comfort, seeking warmth, seeking him. And he watched the clock, knowing that, eventually, someone would come in to take Marissa's vitals, and, when they did, he would get the chance to ask the only question he could manage to think of…

Was she going to be alright?

It was so cliché, so unclinical, so very unprofessional of him, but he didn't care. There was a reason why doctors weren't supposed to work on family or friends, and never before had the reason why been so apparent to Ryan. While a part of him wanted to be up and doing something productive, he realized that he wasn't objective enough to actually be a doctor in that moment. Instead, he was just another loved one of another patient, a member of the common masses again, his medical degree practically forgotten and, in that moment, useless.

Still observing the woman in his arms, he smiled for the first time in hours as he noticed her face scrunch up. Whether from pain and discomfort, annoyance, or just habit, he wasn't sure, but he knew it was a sign that she was waking up, so he patiently waited for her, not rushing the injured beauty. Finally, her lids fluttered open just once, allowing him the opportunity to catch the very same sapphire eyes that had been haunting him for months, but, as soon as her gaze landed upon his, Marissa snapped her lids closed again, the force of which made the delicate skin around her eyes crinkle with strain.

He laughed. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going back to sleep," she whispered, her throat obviously painfully dry and scratchy. When he went to reach for the pitcher of water at her bedside, though, she held him firmly, not allowing him to move. He found her strength as a good sign but still knew that she needed something to drink.  


"I'm just going to pour you a glass of water."

"No."

Her lips were set in a pout, one he suddenly felt the urge to kiss, but he shook away his baser instincts, perfectly aware of the fact that it was neither the time nor the place to be doing let alone thinking of such things, and she still refused to look at him.

"Marissa, open your eyes for me." She shook her head, denying him the one thing he asked of her. "Please?"

"I can't," she whispered. Her tone was so desperate, the physician was struck by the fact that even a deaf man would have been able to hear the pleading note to it. "If I open my eyes, I'll finish waking up, and then you'll disappear."

"I'm not going anywhere."

"But you're not even really here," she protested impatiently. "I've dreamt of this situation too many times over the past few weeks to not realize that it's just a figment of my imagination. Sure, I've never been a hospital bed before, but the rest of the dreams are always the same. You're here, with me, and, then, I wake up, and you're gone. I'd rather stay asleep for the rest of my life if it meant you remained with me forever."

And just like that, Ryan knew without a doubt that Marissa loved him. He didn't need the words, he didn't need the reassurances, and all the pain she had caused him before, in the past, was gone. And, while, yes, there was sure to be some animosity between them, doubts and insecurities, for a long time to come, he also knew that he would rather be with her, fighting through those issues, than away from her, hiding from them. But, before he had a chance to tell her that, before he had a chance to reassure her that he wasn't leaving her again and that he loved her, too, the door to the her hospital room opened up, ushering in Doctor Madison.

"Good Morning," she breezily greeted the two blondes in the bed together, not glancing up from her chart until she was met with silence. "Marissa," the OB-GYN immediately asked, moving to her patient's side, "are you alright? Are you in any pain?"

But it was Ryan who answered for her. "I'm sure she's in some pain, and she really needs to quit being so stubborn and allow me to get up so I can get her a drink, but, otherwise, she's okay. She just refuses to open her eyes because she thinks I'll disappear."

"If Mr. Atwood disappears, I'll personally kick his ass." Despite himself, he gaped at the older woman before him, but his shock quickly turned to gratitude when he heard the woman beside him laugh. "From where you were medically speaking yesterday before he arrived here and where you are this morning, I'd say that Mr. Atwood is your own personal miracle drug, Miss Cooper. We'll be keeping him here for as long as security can corral him."

"So, he's real?"

"As real as you or I," Sylvia replied. "Would you like me to pinch him for you, just to prove the fact?"

"Yes, please," Marissa answered, giggling once again.  


"Hey," he couldn't help but playfully complain, moving to stand up but not quite following through on the unspoken threat when he felt her tense beside him. Slowly, as he remained there, reclined on the hospital bed, Marissa hesitantly opened her eyes, first the left one and then the right. All the while, Doctor Madison simply stood back, pretending to be engrossed in her patient's chart despite knowing already exactly what the notes said. Once Marissa was looking at him, he smiled down on her. "Welcome back," he murmured, bending to kiss her forehead. While he didn't want to rush her and knew that they weren't ready for anything more than a friendly gesture of care and support, he also needed to show her that, despite not saying the words, he did, in fact, want to be there with her, that he did, in fact, want her. Finally satisfied that he wouldn't leave, the two of them settled back together to wait for the OB-GYN's update, hands clasped intimately together.

Sylvia smiled. "It's all good news. We stopped the bleeding, first of all. That was our most immediately concern when you were admitted yesterday, and, because we were able to stop the bleeding, we did not have to perform an emergency hysterectomy."

"So, she can still have children, correct?"

"Barring any other further complications, yes, Mr. Atwood. Miss Cooper should, eventually, be able to carry a child to full term. Now, as with any case of placental abruption, there is a ten percent chance that this will happen again with subsequent pregnancies, but Marissa's young, and, with what I can only assume will be your constant fussing and attention, she'll also eventually be healthy again, too. If Marissa allows you to take care of her as I know you want to, someday, I can almost guarantee the two of you that she'll be a mother."

The tears were already escaping from her eyes as the woman beside him asked, "are you sure," and Ryan found that he had to fight back his own liquid emotion.

"As sure as modern medicine can make me," Doctor Madison remarked positively. Approaching her patient, she placed a gentle, reassuring, almost motherly hand on Marissa's shoulder. "But go back to sleep. Rest is the best thing that you can do for yourself right now, and you shouldn't fight the medication. It's supposed to make you sleepy, and I think Mr. Atwood needs a little while to himself. He needs to get out of this hospital room; he needs to stretch his legs, get something to eat, perhaps even catch a few hours of sleep seeing as how I'm not sure he even blinked last night, let alone rested at all."

"Ryan," the younger of the two women affectionately chastised him, but her words lacked any real sense of reprimand for she was already dozing off.

"I'm not leaving her alone," he argued with the OB-GYN, glancing up to meet her challenging gaze. "She's scared of being here by herself, and, if she wakes up when I'm not here…"

"Don't use her fear as an excuse," Sylvia scolded him. "I can see it in your eyes that you need to get out of this hospital even if it's just for a few hours. I don't know what it is that has you so agitated, and, frankly, though I have a pretty good idea, I don't want to know. Go do what you have to do. Marissa will be here waiting for you when you return, and it'll be better for the both of you if you're not so distracted by thoughts of… justice, perhaps?"

"Go, Mr. Atwood," a third voice, Bernie's voice, joined their discussion as he, silently, let himself into Marissa's hospital room. "Between the two of us, you're the only one physically capable of doing what needs to be done for our girl," he gestured towards the sleeping 

patient. "I'll stay here. I have no other plans than to visit with my friend today. Between Doctor Madison and myself, Marissa will be just fine. And I spoke with Miss Roberts and your brother earlier, and, after they're finished cleaning out Miss Cooper's things from the penthouse, they'll be coming in for a visit, too. So, go," the elderly gentleman urged his younger counterpart.

Sylvia excused herself first, nodding in both of their directions in a gesture of informal goodbye, but Ryan held back for a few minutes as he watched the old Super settle in next to a sleeping Marissa. Without waiting for him to leave, Bernie started talking, telling the beautiful blonde a story about his deceased wife as he placed a fragile, glass bird on the young woman's bedside table. Reassured that Marissa would indeed be alright, he finally left, determination and a sense of vengeance rolling off of his rigid body in palpable waves of aggression as he purposely moved down the hallway.

! !

"Dude."

"Yeah, nerd, the last time I checked, I wasn't a dude. Obviously, you flunked anatomy," Summer retorted snarkily, rolling her eyes at the man beside her and earning herself zero attention. Instead, her partner in crime seemed to be too focused on the walk in closet they were standing in.

"Okay, I get that not everyone lives in Southern California, and, obviously, New York has seasons, but it's hotter outside right now than the inside of a broiler. Why the hell doesn't Marissa own any short sleeved shirts?"

As if she was leading a blind man, the petite brunette asked, "where is Marissa right now?"

"In the hospital."

Seth's brow was furrowed as if he was being posed trick questions, but she didn't stop to explain her inquiries, and she certainly didn't pause long enough to stop and reassure him. "And why is she in there?"

"Because Tanner saw _Stomp! _one too many times."

"Not only that, but," she added helpfully, "he also has a Rocky Balboa complex."

"It's a good thing he didn't sway more towards Mike Tyson, because Marissa has cute ears."

"She does," Summer agreed, nodding her head in accordance. Startling Seth, though, she reached out to smack him upside the head. "Stay on track," she chided him. "So, let's connect the dots here. Hospital, _Stomp!_, right hooks, why the hell do you think Marissa only wore long sleeved shirts, ass?" The stylist had to grin indulgently when realization dawned for her new friend.

"So, what do you think we should do with all this stuff?"

"Well, obviously, no one is ever going to need all these clothes." With bulging eyes, she admitted, "I can't believe I actually just said that."

"Especially," Seth added, "all these long sleeved clothes, because you know your best 

friend's going to be moving out west sooner rather than later."

"I know," she sighed, collapsing down onto a chair conveniently located inside of the closet. "And it sucks. Where else am I going to find myself a human sized Barbie doll to play dress up with?"

He suggested, "you could move back to California, too."

"Yeah, except some us aren't freeloaders who still live with their parents. I have a job, Seth, an apartment, a life here. I just can't pack up and leave it all behind on a whim."

"It wouldn't be a whim," the curly haired brunette argued, "because, here we are, discussing your options, planning. You're a creative director. Southern California should be your Mecca. As for your apartment, this is New York City," he pointed out with just a pinch of sarcasm to his voice. "I'm sure you could find someone out there to sublet it from you."

Standing up, Summer went immediately to work, pulling various items of clothing off of the organized racks and shelves and sorting them into two piles. Ignoring her friend's advice, she explained, "I'm keeping the essentials and the most important pieces from Marissa's wardrobe. They're going into the heap to my left. Fold them, pack them, and we'll take them with us when we go. The items to my right are things she'll never wear again, so we'll bag them up and take them to a consignment shop. With the money that we get back from the pieces, we'll go and pick her out some real summer clothes – some shorts and t-shirts, some sleeveless dresses and a new bathing suit or two. Tanner is permanently out of her life, so I want every reminder of him gone as well."

They worked for over an hour, the stylist sorting and Seth packing, and they were quiet while doing so. She wondered if he realized that his encouragement to move out west was wrecking havoc upon her mind, making her think about and consider things that she had, previously, deemed moot points. And she also had to question just why the twenty-eight year old, unemployed slacker was pushing for her relocation so strongly. She had a feeling it had little to do with Marissa and everything to do with Seth… not that the revelation surprised her any.

As they were loading the elevator with Marissa's things, already determining that they would take two separate taxis once they got downstairs, Summer to her apartment with the things they were keeping from the blonde's extensive wardrobe and the curly haired brunette to the consignment store where she would later meet him, they worked in sync with one another, the process moving ahead smoothly and easily. With a heavy suitcase blocking the lift's doors from closing, they were able to load the elevator pretty much without hassle.

On the ride back down to the lobby, pressed together tightly because of the mountains of bags and cases of clothing around them, the creative director turned towards the man beside her, looking up to meet his gaze. "I'll consider it."

"Good," Seth returned, staring at her for several seconds until he leaned down and pressed his lips to her own.

The kiss startled Summer, for she had not been expecting it or for Seth to make the first move, but what shocked her even more was that she responded, that she responded, and deepened it, and even liked it. The floors seemed to evaporate quickly, and, before she knew what was happening, the doors to the lift were opening with a soft peal of a bell to 

alert those inside that they had arrived at their chosen destination, and she practically had to rip her mouth away from the freeloader's.

Wiping off her smeared lipstick, she remarked calmly without looking back in Seth's direction, "alright then. I guess this means I'm moving."

It also meant that the ass had a lot more packing to help her with, but she figured she wait a little while and tell him that _after _they finished with Marissa's things. Summer would build him up, let him hope that his work was finished, and then beat him back down again. She laughed at the thought, realizing she was very much going to like having Seth Cohen at her beck and call. And, in the end, she'd make sure that he liked it, too.

! !

He was in the middle of a story about a game at Shea Stadium when she showed signs of stirring once again. Bernie knew that, if there was anything to make his young friend wake up, it was sports, just so that she would have an opportunity to complain about his subject of choice. It was the only area of the news that didn't interest Marissa Cooper, and, despite his own love for all things team oriented, he found the blonde beauty's apathy to be amusing, an adorable personality quirk.

With a crooked grin on his old, weathered face, he was ready and waiting to greet the young woman lying in the hospital bed before him, but, when she sat up quickly, disregarding both her injuries and the many tubes and wires running their way in and out of her body, in a sheer panic, his warm greeting evaporated. Instantly, he was worried.

"Hey, hey, there," he tried to sooth her, gently pushing down on her shoulders in a vain attempt to get her to recline back again and relax. "If you're not careful, you're going to aggravate your injuries." When Marissa refused to listen to him, her eyes darting nervously back and forth across the small hospital room, he spoke with harsher words. "Now, Miss Cooper, if you don't lay back down, I'm going to page the doc in here, and she's not going to be too happy with you."

"Where's Ryan?"

The words were spoken so quickly, so breathlessly, he had a difficult time understanding what she asked. "What's that?"

"I said," the young patient tried to calm herself down long enough to properly elucidate her words, "where's Ryan? He said he wouldn't leave. Where did he go? Is he coming back?" When comprehension seemed to dawn for her, she turned pleading, desperate eyes to the graying man. "You have to go after him. You have to stop him from going after Tanner. Please, Bernie. I wouldn't ask this of you if it wasn't important."

"Even if I had the power to stop that young man from going after Mr. Meriden, I wouldn't waste the effort," the building supervisor denied her. "Ryan's doing what he feels is necessary, and, I, for one, happen to agree with him. That ex-fiancé of yours deserves a dose of his own brand of medicine, and I have a feeling Mr. Atwood is just the man to give it to him. Now, you settle down, so, when he gets back here, he doesn't turn that fury onto me for not taking proper care of you."

"You don't understand," the pretty blonde continued to argue. "If Ryan goes after Tanner, he'll probably kill him or at least try to. I won't let him get into trouble for me."  


"He won't."

They both turned to face the middle aged man standing in the doorway before them. Dressed impressively, he appeared to have not a single hair out of place, not a single wrinkle in his undoubtedly designer suit. Although neither Bernie nor his young friend knew who the man was by sight, it was obvious that he was someone used to being obeyed. He reeked of power and wealth and influence, and, immediately, the old Super's interest was piqued.

"Miss Cooper," the businessman spoke again. "Lay down." Wordlessly, she complied. "Now that you're composed and listening, I can assure you that nothing is going to happen to Ryan."

Marissa blinked several times in rapid succession, obviously stunned by the stranger's pronouncement. "How?"

"Simply put, because I won't let anything happen to him. But that's not why I stopped by this morning to see you. Before I fly back home this afternoon, there's an important matter that I wish to discuss with you."

Bernie watched as his young friend swallowed thickly, replying, "go ahead."

But, still, the commanding man did not move away from the doorway. He stood poised in the threshold of the room, either too uncomfortable to come in further or simply not caring to do so. "It's about the matter of a job."

"Oh, I see," Marissa realized gloomily. "You're here to fire me."

"On the contrary, I'd actually like to offer you a promotion of sorts."

The injured blonde gaped at the man standing before them. "Seriously? Would you care to run that by me again?"

Instead, he asked her, "does the name Caleb Nichol mean anything to you?"

"Of course," the graying man heard his friend respond. "He's the president and CEO of The Newport Group, one of the largest and most respected land developing companies on the west coast. Recently, they also started branching into publishing as well."

"Well, good," the stranger beamed in the young woman's direction. "I'm thrilled that you've heard of me and that you're familiar with what I do. That should make things easier for the both of us when you come to work for me."

"Excuse me?"

This time it was Bernie's turn to gape, but he didn't say a word. Instead, he remained vigil at his friend's side, speechless. "Recently, my personal assistant had to take a leave of absence, and, unfortunately, it's turned into a permanent one. I need a replacement for her."

"And I appreciate the offer, sir, Mr. Nichol, but, to be honest with you, I don't want to work in real estate, and I certainly don't want to be someone's assistant for the rest of my 

career, no matter how lucrative the position might be."

"I already know this," Caleb stated. "You want to be a journalist, but, unfortunately, you don't have a college degree. So," he continued without waiting for her to respond, "this is what I propose: come and work with me as my personal assistant for four years. If you agree to my terms, I'll not only double your current salary, but I'll also pay for you to attend journalism school full time at night. Once you graduate and your four years as my assistant are up, you'll be guaranteed a position, appropriate for your level of experience and education, in my soon-to-be new media division of The Newport Group."

The only sound she could offer in reply was a squeak of incredulity.

"What, nothing to say?" Grinning crookedly, the businessman teased her, "I'd hurry up if I were you. I'm a busy man, and, as I said earlier, my flight leaves soon. If you don't want the job, I'm sure I could find someone else who would…"

"No," Marissa yelled out, practically splitting Bernie's eardrum in two. "I want it."

"Good, then, it's settled. I'll expect you in the office at 9:00 AM sharp, Monday morning, two weeks from now."

When he went to turn away, she called out to stop him. "Wait, Mr. Nichol, if I may be so candid, why are you doing this for me?"

"Well, first of all, you came highly recommended from Richard Frasier himself. And, secondly, although he might not admit it quite yet, my grandson, Ryan, is in love with you, and I'll do anything within my power, which is rather extensive, to make sure my family is happy."

As the middle aged tycoon made his way out of her hospital room, he came to a stop in front of an eavesdropping Julie. "Aw," he remarked astutely. "You must be the mother. Come with me," he commanded her, reaching up to grasp her arm firmly so she couldn't escape him but, yet, at the same time, not harsh enough to leave a mark. "You and I need to have a little chat."

Silence descended over Marissa's hospital room after Caleb Nichol disappeared from view. Bernie stared at his young friend, and she returned the favor, their expressions matching ones of astonishment and joyous disbelief. Finally, it was the elderly Super who interrupted the quiet. "Well, Miss Cooper, I do believe we just met your fairy godfather."

"I know," the blonde beside him breathed out, barely capable of containing her radiant smile. Eventually, she gave in to the elation and giggled. "I can't believe that just happened."

Crumpling down onto his chair, Bernie said the only words he could think of in that moment. "Well, goddamn it all if that don't beat everything."

And it did.

! !

Life was good.



It was amazing what a little influence and whole hell of a lot of cash could accomplish for a man. Not only was Tanner out on bail without even having to serve a single second in jail, but he also had one of the top New York City criminal defense lawyers working on his case… all because Richard kept him on retainer for the company. He was confident that the whole mess with Marissa would blow over, and, once it did, business would be back to usual, and he'd make sure that he got his revenge. Just thinking of making the bitch and her lapdog doctor pay was a heady sensation. It was almost as good as sex… but not quite.

Seated confidently behind his massive desk, Tanner surveyed his office like a king would survey his empire. That was also a rush for him as was commanding about his secretary and, in general, treating her badly. It surprised him that no one seemed to question why he went through so many assistants, but, like most things in life, when you got to be of a certain status, most everything could be forgotten or, at least, overlooked. If he didn't berate them to the point where they quit, literally fleeing the building in tears, then he would sleep with them and fire them immediately afterwards. After all, while a man might want to have sex with a woman, he never respected her enough afterwards to work with her.

He had been an employee at Frasier Media Incorporated for almost ten years, and, in that time span, he had hired and then proceeded to dismiss more than twenty-five secretaries. Finding the idea amusing, Tanner chucked to himself, reclining back in his luxurious desk chair and propping his Prada shoed feet up before him. He was going to have to find out the record for the most assistants in a ten year time span before his anniversary approached.

Without taking a more professional stance, he buzzed out to the ante-office, calling for the belittled and much beleaguered woman who worked for him. "Ruthann." He didn't even wait for her to respond. If she wasn't at her desk, despite him constantly sending her away on errands, and if she didn't hear his demands, then he'd fire her. "I want you to bring me in the transcripts from the meeting I missed while I was out of town last week."

There was no answer.

"Ruthann!"

"I told her to step out for a few minutes."

"Oh, Mr. Frasier," Tanner quickly corrected his position, dropping his feet back to the floor and standing up quickly. "I didn't hear you come in."

"Obviously."

"So, what can I do for you, Sir?"

"I was actually just showing someone up to your office," his boss revealed, smiling cryptically. The younger man almost feared his employer in that moment. Almost. But he had Richard Frasier snowballed. The man practically ate garbage out of his hand.

"Whoever this person is, if you personally showed them up to my office, I can't wait to meet them."

"I'm glad you feel that way, Tanner." The billionaire turned around, ostensibly to wave in their honored guest. Puffing up his chest, the younger executive prepared himself mentally to face a man he was presumably supposed to admire, someone who had earned the 

respect of his boss, a feat very few men ever accomplished. "I believe the two of you have already met. Tanner Meriden, Ryan Atwood."

He felt the color physically drain from his face. "What the fuck is going on around here?"

"Mr. Atwood is my personal guest this morning," Richard continued, either not noticing or, more likely, ignoring his employee's anxious behavior. "Make sure he gets everything that he came here for, alright?"

With that, a slack jawed Tanner watched as the media mogul turned around and strode purposely out of his office, closing the door silently behind him. Reaching up, the junior vice-president loosened his, all of a sudden, strangling tie and unfastened the first several confining buttons on his perfectly pressed Oxford shirt. He felt trapped.

Summoning all the courage, all the bravado he had, he demanded to know, "what in the hell do you want?"

He watched as Ryan approached, stalking him almost like a tiger stalking its prey. Backing away from the blonde man, Tanner stumbled to a stop when his back hit the far wall of his office. There was nowhere left for him to retreat. Before he could react, before he could even attempt to defend himself, Atwood had gripped his arm at the wrist and at the elbow, twisting it until the joint of his shoulder snapped out of place. He howled in pain, but there was no time to coddle the dislocated arm, because, the next thing he knew, he was crumpled up on the floor, steeled toed boots connecting with his ribs.

"Do you know what's interesting about being a doctor?" Apparently, the question was rhetorical, because his attacker didn't give him a chance to respond. "I have access to any patient's medical file. Marissa's was quite the lengthy read."

A kick to his face left Tanner's ears ringing, but he could still hear what the other man was saying. "I'm not going to kill you. I won't give you the satisfaction of knowing that I'd have to live the rest of my life with your tainted blood on my hands. But I'm going to break you. I'm going to leave you here withering in pain… just like you did to Marissa time after time after time."

For the first time in his life, the young businessman remained quiet, silently taking the vigilante served justice as it was so cruelly given to him. He knew that, if he said anything, if he defended himself or disparaged against Marissa at all, that Ryan would only increase the level of his attack. Pretending to be meek and feigning acceptance would hurry up the process and, perhaps, save him some injuries. But it was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his entire adulthood – bite his tongue.

It wasn't until Atwood viciously stepped down on his wrist, crushing the bones beneath his heavily soled boots, that he screamed out in pain. "You do know that there are cameras in this building, don't you? I have this entire beating on tape."

"Normally, you would," Ryan agreed, his breathing coming in harsh, erratic pants from the exertion. "But, lucky for me, unfortunate for you, Richard had the security system shut down before I entered the building. I have fifteen minutes to do as much damage as I possibly can."

Spitting out a mouthful of blood and wincing when he saw a molar resting in the mucous, Tanner questioned, "why the hell would Richard Frasier, of all people, help someone like 

you."

"For such a rich, successful man, Meriden," his assailant mocked, "you really are a stupid fuck. All it would have taken was a little bit of research of your part, and you would have realized that I'm not just some doctor. I'm the adopted son of Sandy and Kirsten Cohen."

He glared at the physician, finding it extremely difficult not to smart mouth back to him. When he eventually replied, he couldn't help but pepper his words with a touch of sarcasm. "Like I know who the hell those people are."

"Like I said, you're stupid. Kirsten Cohen is the daughter of Caleb Nichol, President and CEO of The Newport Group, and he just so happens to be an old college buddy of your boss. It's quite the small world we live in, huh?"

Finally, the beating stopped. With a quick, mental inspection, the young executive could tell that not only was his shoulder dislocated and his right wrist broken, but he had several cracked ribs, various bruises and contusions all over his body, and, if he was really unlucky, some cuts deep enough on his face that they would require stitches and just might scar anyway.

Wincing, the injured man sat up, leaning his damaged body against the wall behind him. Taunting the blonde standing across the room, the pacing man practically gasping with unreleased fury, his hands fisted at his hips, Tanner egotistically remarked, "while you might get away with your crimes, I will, too."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that, Meriden," his boss growled. When he had reappeared, the dark haired man did not know. "You see, as of this morning, I terminated your contract, so you no longer have your fancy lawyer anymore. In fact, I believe that the DA's office is scrambling right now to find you a public defender. I put a request in for you to have someone fresh out of college, too. Consider it your final bonus from yours truly."

No longer restrained from telling Mr. Frasier what he really thought about him, he snapped back, "do your worst, old man. I have plenty of money. I'll just pay for my own attorney, and, once all my legal matters are cleared up, there will be at least a dozen or more companies who will want to hire me. Your loss will be their gain."

The old man pulled up a chair so that he could sit directly before him. "That might have been true a week ago, Tanner, but not now. You see, not only are you facing assault charges, and, potentially, if the DA can scrounge up enough evidence, attempted murder charges, but the IRS froze your personal accounts this morning. Apparently, you've been a very bad boy. Tax evasion isn't something the government looks upon lightly. In fact, it's the very thing that has managed to take down many seasoned, professional criminals before you, men who were twice as brave and twice as intelligent as you are. As for those dozen or so other companies you claim will want to snatch you right up, do you really think any CEO would be stupid enough to cross me and my new business partner?"

"Let me guess," the once junior executive sneered. "Nichol's your new partner."

"Well, would you look at that," Richard grinned, standing up and meeting Ryan's gaze. Walking towards his former employee, the billionaire leaned down, roughly slapping Tanner's bloodied cheek. "You're smarter than we gave you credit for, Tanner. Maybe you'll survive prison after all, but, even if you do, you'll never survive the real world after you get out."  


Standing back up, the older man pivoted around on his heel and walked out of the office, never once looking behind him. "Have a nice life, kid." As his and Atwood's footsteps faded down the marble hallway, he could hear the two men laughing at his expense, and, the worst part was, he could do absolutely nothing about it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

_Six Months Later…_

Sometimes, it felt as if she was living out of her car, and, unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as glamorous as it appeared on television or in the movies. She ate breakfast in her car, did homework in her car, often changed clothes in her car, and, on really bad days, even took naps in her car. She spent more time in the little subcompact hybrid than she did at work, or at school, or even at her tiny, one bedroom apartment. It was ridiculous, slightly comical, at times, but, still, ridiculous.

And she wouldn't change a damn thing about it.

Lowering her seat which was already rolled back as far as it possibly could be because of her long legs, Marissa struggled with her blouse. If nothing else, her hectic living schedule had forced her to revisit her flexibility, and, now, even wedged between the tiny confines of her eco-friendly car, she was able to reach behind her back and unbutton the small clasp that kept the light, silk shirt hooked and closed. Tossing it aside, she glanced around the crowded parking lot, making sure no one was watching as she slipped off her slacks. In just her bra and panties, she quickly fished out the dress she had hanging in a garment bag behind her, pulling it over her head to hide her previous state of undress. A cursory peak in the mirror told her that her hair was still tied up in a messy bun, looking effortless while in reality the updo had taken twenty minutes to perfect during her media relations course that evening. With an obligatory swipe of lipstick and reapplication of some darker eye makeup for evening, she was ready, sighing in relief that she could manage the whole process of changing from day to night in less than three minutes. A little more practice, and she'd have her time under two.

"You know, you could slow down the show," a voice, a very recognizable one, chastised her playfully as its owner opened the passenger side door and, as smoothly as possible, slid into the vehicle amongst her mountain of text books, folders, and office equipment. "The one thing I had to look forward to all day, and you rushed it."

She didn't even deign his mock complaints with a response. Instead, the willowy blonde leaned over the center console and kissed the man she loved hello. "Hey, you."

"You're late."

"I know," she commiserated, sighing in defeat. "I warned everyone that I might be, and I honestly did everything I could to get here as early as possible, but, first my professor ran class over, and then there was traffic, and, of course, I had to get behind someone who was driving…"

"Marissa," Ryan stopped her mid-rant. "It's fine. No one's upset. There are so many people in there, I'm not even sure they missed the fact that you're late and that I skipped out over half an hour ago."

Her eyes widened with both shock and playful reprimand. "You did what?"

"It was boring," the doctor protested, chuckling at her expression. "Besides, I wanted to be waiting for you when you got here… for obvious reasons."  


Rolling her eyes, she opened the driver's side door, waiting by the car for her significant other to join her. Walking into the restaurant with his right arm wrapped around her waist, she allowed herself a moment to lean into him, to allow his presence to totally envelope her. It had been days since they managed to spend any alone time together. With the wedding on top of everything else crowding their schedules, life was so frenzied.

Closing her sparking blue gaze in contentment, Marissa confessed, "I've missed you, too."

She felt his warm lips brush against her temple before he opened the door to the elite establishment, closed for the evening because of a private party, the chill of the air conditioning and the roar of a hundred guests assaulting her instantly and causing the brief moments of peace she had just shared with the man she loved to evaporate. It was time for a performance.

Lifting her head from Ryan's shoulder, she felt his arm slip away from her as they, together, moved to lace their fingers together. Walking hand in hand towards their awaiting and gathered family, they both smiled at the courteously offered greetings and returned the superficial, perfunctory pleasantries too widespread in polite society. It was a game, a ruse, similar to that of which she had lived willingly in New York with Tanner but different because it wasn't of her own design or forced upon her.

Instead, Marissa gladly played her role in the entire deception for those closest to her. She did it for Summer and her love of the opulent. She did it for Seth and his utter cluelessness when it came to everything social. She did it for Caleb who, with absolutely no reason besides the fact that his adopted grandson cared for her, had given her a chance. And she did it for Sandy and Kirsten, because they had welcomed her into their family with open arms, never once frowning upon her because of her past or judging her for the things she had lived through and survived. And, at the end of the night, when the last guest had gone home and the engagement party disbanded, she and Ryan would go back to being just another ordinary couple, lost in their relationship and the little joys and heartaches they shared together as one.

Releasing her boyfriend's hand, the personal assistant, for the second time that evening, offered the woman before her a sincere smile, enveloping the petite brunette in a secure embrace. "Congratulations, Sum," Marissa whispered into her best friend's ear. "I'm so happy for you."

"And, you," she moved on to the man standing beside the stylist, grinning mischievously at him. "Who would have thought you had it in you?"

"Seriously, I know," Seth agreed indulgently. "But, what can I say, the women, they just can't resist the Cohen charm."

"Well, they better, ass," the still freeloading, now, twenty-nine year's fiancée warned, glaring at the young man with her hands placed firmly on her curvaceous hips.

But everyone just laughed at Summer's admonition, knowing full well that Seth 

worshipped the very ground she walked on. There was a better chance of the curly haired brunette actually going out and finding himself a real job than there was of him cheating on the woman he loved… and slightly feared.

Sliding up to the group of four, their newest member asked, "actually, what I want to know is just how much longer Marissa is going to be able to resist Ryan's charms. Will we be planning a second wedding anytime soon," Sandy inquired inquisitively if not with anticipation.

"Not for a while," the man in question responded, rejoining his girlfriend as they once again tangled their tanned digits together.

"We're…," the college student's voice trailed off as she met her boyfriend's steady, knowing gaze. Reading his agreement in his deep, cobalt depths, she pressed on. "We're good, really good, the way we are." Meeting her someday father-in-law's rather disappointed brown eyes, Marissa added, "there's no need for us to rush."

The rest of the evening went smoothly… and slowly. The impressive, lavish dinner dragged on, course after course, as the large, celebratory crowd talked and laughed together, sharing stories of the engaged couple and speculating about their future. In their quiet corner, though, at the head table beside the soon-to-be married Seth and Summer, she and Ryan merely sat back and quietly enjoyed the festivities. With his free hand placed intimately on her thigh underneath her dress, she was constantly aware of his presence beside her, but his touch wasn't meant to seduce or even possess. It just simply was. It was a promise of both the present and the future, another way for him to always reassure her that he was there, with her, and he always would be; it was just another private moment of happiness they could share together… and they did.

! !

The sound of the overly large front door slamming behind him reverberated through the cavernous, marble foyer. There was no need for him to announce his presence so loudly every evening, but Caleb Nichol, single, self-proclaimed eternal bachelor since his first and only wife had passed away many years before, liked bold things, even if there was no one else there to appreciate them but himself. The staff had all gone home for the evening at that point, leaving him alone with his things and his memories in the home he had raised his children in. And, oddly, unlike most other adults, the past and the knowledge that those he cared for the most were happy elsewhere were enough for him.

Tugging at the silk noose around his neck, he loosened the restraining material, eventually flinging the tie off and onto the thickly carpeted floors of his private study. The room was dimly lit by a single, mellow, green lamp perched precisely on the center, front lip of his desk. Its warm light threw shadows against the mahogany paneled walls and illuminated only the neatly arranged papers and folders on his private work space. Taking a seat behind the massive writing table, he leaned back in the creaking, leather chair, savoring its familiar, welcoming shape as it conformed to his body. There, behind his richly carved, antique desk, Caleb Nichol always felt the most at home.

The phone was close by, within easy reach for him to pick up. Dialing the number that had been confidently replaying itself over and over again in his mind all week, 

he placed the call that he had been putting off for six months. While his grandson might have been satisfied with how things resolved themselves in New York, he was not. The billionaire CEO did not particularly care to leave anything in fate's hands, and, whether it was his place or not, he was fully prepared to interfere where another human life was concerned.

Politicians declared war, creating massive death tolls, with far less thought than he had put into his current predicament. Doctors made life or death decisions for their patients every day. Judges sentenced others to death row with just a simple decree and a rap of their wooden gavel. If those men and women had the right to play god, then he, more powerful than any of them separately or combined, could do so, as well, if he pleased, and, unlike those others who made such decisions because it was their job to, he was sentencing another being to death because it was right, because it was just, and because it was for his family. If he was wrong, then he'd pay the price later, but, for now, he'd relish just how satisfactory his decision felt.

"It's me," he greeted the other person on the line when they picked up. That was it; no other preamble or overture was needed. "You know what to do. Tanner Meriden dies in prison tonight. Make it look like an accident, and make it look good. I don't think either of us want this coming back to haunt us at a later date. I'll be in touch."

Replacing the phone in its receiver, the older man stood up from his desk, switched the muted, jade colored lamp off, and proceeded to make his way upstairs and to bed, his conscious perfectly clear.

! !

"So…"

They were lounged out together on her couch, Ryan behind her as she leaned against him nestled between his bent legs. The lights were off, the television was silent and dark, and it was just the two of them stripped bare emotionally as it often was. After Seth and Summer's engagement party had come to a close hours before, he had followed her back to her apartment, and, since arriving and changing, they had hit upon every single topic they could, avoiding the only one that truly mattered.

They had discussed the party in detail, sharing a few, private laughs at others' expense. They had, together, found a snack in the kitchen, preferring simple food to the foreign, hard to pronounce French dishes they had been served earlier in the evening. And, as always, they went over their respective days with each other. Marissa entertained him with a story about how it had taken her almost forty-five minutes to convince his grandfather which tie looked the best for his meeting. When her four years were up, she didn't know what she would do every day without Caleb Nichol to spoil and smother. He was the doting parental unit she had never had growing up as a child, and, since he catered to her every whim, she had a feeling he would be just as lost without her as well. And, in return, Ryan shared a couple humorous anecdotes about his rather scatterbrained receptionist. Although, to others, their routine might have seemed trite or even boring, in the end, the only thing that mattered was that it worked for them; they enjoyed the whispered summations of their days apart.

But, with that one word, Ryan reminded her that, on that particular evening, there was one very important part of her day that she had, thus far, left out of their 

conversation. Tilting her face back to look at her boyfriend, the blonde beauty teased, "actually, no, I don't _sew_, but, if it's that important to you, I'm sure I could learn how to."

"Very funny, Cooper." Kissing her nose, the physician pretended to insult her. "I think you've been hanging out with my brother too much."

Sighing, she dismissed, "not likely, especially with how hectic my schedule has been lately. Between work, and school, and helping Summer plan the wedding, I barely have any free time to see you. Seth is the last person on my mind… or penciled into my day planner."

"I'll admit that I've been going through a little Marissa withdrawal recently."

"And that's why I can't wait for spring break."

"Don't get too excited," he warned her. "After all, Caleb still refuses to give you the week off."

Narrowing her gaze, Marissa sat up, turning around to face the man she loved. "What do you mean by _still_?"

"Well," the doctor hedged, refusing to meet her gaze. "I might have…"

"Talked to him," she finished, lightheartedly punching his arm. "I told you not to do that. He probably thinks that I made you say something."

"He does not. I made it very clear to him that you'd probably skin me alive if you found out about our little meeting."

"And I just might," the journalism major threatened, though there was no real animosity present in her voice. "Listen, I don't mind that your grandfather refuses to bend the rules for me. I'm just another one of his employees, so I should be treated the same way."

"You're not," Ryan stated unequivocally, pulling her back into his warm embrace, "just another employee. You're a part of his family."

"Even so, it's not like we could actually go anywhere if I had the week off. You have patients to see, and your practice is too new to close for a few days just so that we could go away together. We'll both work during the day, and, for an entire week, you'll have me all to yourself at night. I already told Summer that we're not shopping, tasting, or interviewing anyone during spring break."

"And how did she take the news?"

The personal assistant scrunched up her face in thought, trying to recall her best friends exact words. "I'm pretty sure she said 'whatever. I'll just make Cohen's lazy ass go with me.'"

"Well, with that in mind," Ryan grinned, pulling them both down so that they were lounging on the couch, "I say, your place or mine?"



The question required absolutely no thought whatsoever on her part. "Yours - you have the better bathtub."

"Alright, so, now that we've settled that and you've managed to avoid the issue at hand, once again, I'm not going to let you distract me anymore."

Marissa quirked her head to the side. "Why, I do believe that was a challenge."

"Hold that thought," he directed her. "I'd love for you to take what I just said as a challenge, but, first, would you please just tell me how your doctor's appointment went today."

"You worry way too much, Atwood. Six months ago, Doctor Madison told me that I'd be fine, and, today, my new doctor said the exact same thing. No permanent damage, no scarring, and absolutely no reason why, in five years or so, we couldn't try, if we wanted to, for a kid."

"Or six," her boyfriend suggested lasciviously, his hands falling from her hips to slide, without censorship, underneath her thin dress. "Six kids sounds like a reasonable number to me."

Brightly, Marissa agreed. "Sure," only adding the provision after several quiet, suspense filled beats, "if we adopt."

"Hm," the doctor appeared to consider the idea, all the while rearranging them on the sofa so that she was facing him. Standing with her still wrapped around him, he walked them towards her bedroom, talking the entire time. "Maybe we will adopt. After all, I was. Perhaps we should try to help kids from abusive homes. If any two people have the experience to help them get past that, it would be you and I, and I kind of like the idea of us returning the favor that the Cohens gave me all those ye…"

"Ryan," she interrupted him calmly, enfolding her legs suggestively around his waist and squeezing tightly. "Don't you think this is a conversation better suited for after we have sex?"

"Right," he agreed before, unceremoniously, dropping her onto the queen sized bed, its large shape dominating the otherwise small bedroom. Over the sounds of her laughter, he complimented, "good idea," before lowering himself to rest upon her, any other words either of them were thinking about saying evaporating into the still and quiet spring night.

! !

They had been parked in the grungy trailer park Marissa had grown up in for almost an hour, just sitting there, several lots down from her mother's house, the same one she had grown up in as a little girl, waiting for what, he didn't know. While Ryan realized that facing Julie was something his girlfriend had to do, watching her as she visibly diminished in size as her shoulders slumped forward and cringed emotionally from just the thought of, after six months, having to revisit the worst part of her life, he wondered if the confrontation wasn't coming too soon. Between simply being away from her mother and Tanner and surrounded by people who loved her, Marissa's self confidence had grown by leaps and bounds. Add to that the fact that she was seeing a therapist twice a week, and he knew that the woman he loved was 

well on her way to recovery. But tackling the demons Julie represented… Well, that was a matter located on a completely different level of difficultness.

"You know," the general practitioner told her without judgment or disappointment. "You don't have to do this today."

"But we drove all this way…"

"That doesn't matter to me," he reassured the woman he loved, twisting in his driver's seat to look her in the face. "I'll drive you here every day for the rest of my life if you need and want me to. This, you finally talking to your mother about everything she's done to you over the years, it has nothing to do with me. You have to do it for yourself for no other reason than simply getting those feelings off your chest, and, whenever you're ready to do that, I'll be right here, supporting you, encouraging you, waiting for you."

And that's when she smiled at him, the sheer strength of her happiness making Ryan feel slightly weak in the knees. "You know how much I love you, right?"

"If I didn't before that grin, I sure as hell do now."

The sound of her merry laughter made him feel ten feet tall and capable of anything. "Well, good." Before he could reply, the doctor felt his girlfriend's lips upon his as she whispered a quick yet passionate kiss against his mouth. Once she pulled back away, she continued. "But I'm ready to do this. I need to. The sooner I finally put my past behind me, the sooner I can move forward with you in the present."

Ryan smirked. "That sounds great to me."

"But I have one favor to ask." He nodded his head to show her that she should ask of him whatever she desired to. "Will you," her gaze dropped as the question came to an abrupt stop, and he watched as the woman he was planning to spend the rest of his life with toyed with their joined hands, running her long, slender digits around and in between his own blunt and slightly calloused ones. Biting her lip, she finally asked what she tried to before, glancing at him from underneath a heavy veil of dark, mysterious lashes. "Will you go with me?"

"If you…"

"You won't have to say anything," she rushed to promise him, interjecting before he could respond. "I just want you to stand there beside me, holding my hand in yours. I want to show my Mom that we're stronger together than we are apart, that I'm finally happy. It won't matter how many times I tell her that, seeing you there with me, supporting me, she won't be able to deny the truth of that visual."

Dipping his head in assent, Ryan got out of the vehicle, walking around the small, sports car to, once again, lace their hands together, palm to palm. Leaning into the college student's shoulder, he murmured so only she could hear him, "I'll always go wherever you go, even if you don't want me to."

She bumped his hip with her own. "Fat chance of that ever happening, Atwood."

They were so lost in each other that, as they rounded the corner of her former 

childhood home, neither of them realized Julie was leaving at the same time, only looking up at the redhead when she spoke up and confronted them. "Marissa?"

The jollity of their former moment disappeared instantaneously. "Hello, Julie."

"Uh… is there something I can help you with, directions perhaps? I highly doubt you're here to see me."

"Actually," the younger woman hedged, her voice trailing off as her mother popped an impatient hip out.

"Look, I'd love to chat, but I don't have the time." The sarcasm dripped off of Julie's every word. "Some of us, present company excluded, have to work for a living, so, if you'll excuse me…"

She went to brush past them, but Marissa, temper already piqued, stood in her way, blocking the path. "No, I won't excuse you, and don't give me any of that 'poor me' garbage. You have to support yourself now? So what. Ryan pays his own bills; I pay mine. It's a part of life, Julie. Everyone does it."

"Oh, yes," the redhead taunted. "Let's listen to the woes of the rich doctor and his slut. This should be…"

"That's enough," Marissa whispered vehemently. Though her voice was still low, it did not lack any strength or vitality. "For years, I've sat back and allowed you to insult me to make you feel better about yourself, but no more. It's not my fault that you got knocked up as a teenager, it's not my fault that you preferred to wallow in poverty than to go out and make something of yourself, and it's certainly not my fault that you've never found someone who could love and respect you. But, then again, if I've learned anything these past few months, it's that you have to love and respect yourself before you're capable of accepting those feelings from another person."

"That's beautiful, Marissa, but I really do have to get to work. So, why don't you take your baggage and your shrink gained wisdom and go hit up someone who actually cares."

"I'm not done talking to you yet." Ryan could feel the tension of determination enter the personal assistant's body, and his faith in her and her newfound poise and self-reliance only increased. He had been wrong to doubt her readiness to confront Julie. She had certainly already proven that to him and more.

"Fine," the older woman conceded, leaning in a bored manner against her trailer. "Say what you want to say and then get out."

"I will," his girlfriend agreed. "I want to tell you that you were a terrible mother, that Caitlyn and I deserved more than your meager and failed attempts at affection. If you didn't want us, why did you keep us? There were thousands of people out there who would have gladly adopted your unwanted children, but, instead, you selfishly kept us, and for what – so that maybe someday you could use us to your own sick advantage? You knew," the blonde next to him accused tearfully. "You knew the whole time what Tanner was doing to me, and you didn't care. _It's just the way men are, Marissa_. _He doesn't realize that he's hurting you, Marissa. For everything he _

_does for us, he deserves to be given a few concessions, Marissa. Stop exaggerating, Marissa. All women go through this with the men who love them. _And maybe, the worst one of all, _don't be selfish, Marissa. Caitlyn and I, we need you to be with Tanner. Don't you love us enough to stay with him, Marissa?_

"I was your daughter, your own flesh and blood, and you left me in a relationship, no," she corrected herself, dashing away the fallen drops of emotion coursing their way down her tan and slightly freckled face. "You practically forced me to stay in a relationship that was slowly killing me physically, mentally, spiritually, and emotionally by manipulating and guilting me."

"Say and think whatever you want, but, in the end, it was you who chose to be with Tanner, not me," Julie dumbly defended herself.

"You're right, and I do accept my own portion of the responsibility, but you, as my mother, should have done everything within your power to help me see that I needed to find the will to leave that relationship, but you didn't. And, because you did nothing, I, now, want nothing to do with you." Taking a deep breath, Marissa fortified herself for what she was about to say next. "This is goodbye. I deserve better than a mother like you, and I've found it in Ryan. His family is now my family as well, and I just… I don't want you in my life anymore, Julie. So, please, stay away from me. Don't try to contact me. Don't call, don't write, don't even think of me. You're a part of my past, a past that I've confronted and made peace with now, and there's no room for you in my future.

"Goodbye, Julie."

Pivoting around, the two of them made their way back to the awaiting car, still hand in hand. Wordlessly, they climbed inside and drove away, leaving Julie, and the trailer park, and everything it represented for Marissa far behind them, and Ryan sighed in relief. The cycle of abuse she had been living under for years had finally been shattered apart.

Marissa was free.


End file.
